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The morning after the rooftop felt different in a way that was almost impossible to name. It wasn’t loud or dramatic. Nothing had physically changed about the dorm—the same slightly crooked curtain rod, the same faint hum of the air conditioner, the same stack of hoodies thrown over a chair like they’d staged a tiny fabric rebellion overnight. And yet the light filtering through the curtains seemed softer and brighter all at once, like the sun itself had decided to be gentle with them.
The air no longer felt heavy.
For weeks there had been something unspoken sitting between them, something invisible but tangible, like humidity before a storm. It had clung to shared glances and brushed hands and too-long silences. Now it was gone. Or maybe it hadn’t disappeared. Maybe it had simply transformed into something warmer, steadier. A quiet certainty.
Jeongin woke first.
He didn’t jolt upright this time. No sudden panic about schedules. No internal checklist firing off in his brain. He simply blinked awake and lay there, staring at the faint golden streak stretching across the ceiling. Dust motes drifted lazily through the beam of sunlight, rising and falling like they were practicing slow-motion choreography.
He felt… light.
Carefully, he turned his head.
Felix was still asleep beside him, half-buried in his pillow like he had tried to merge with it in the night. One arm was tucked under his cheek, the other thrown loosely across the mattress, fingers slightly curled. His breathing was slow and steady, chest rising and falling in an easy rhythm that made the whole room feel calm.
There was something deeply unfair about how soft Felix looked in sleep. His freckles were scattered across his nose and cheeks like someone had gently shaken a constellation onto his skin. His lips were parted just slightly, and his lashes cast faint shadows against his cheeks.
Jeongin’s chest tightened in that way it always did when he looked at him too long.
Not painful. Just full.
A playful warmth bubbled up inside him, bright and impossible to suppress. Usually, waking Felix required strategy. Soft music. Gentle shoulder shakes. A carefully measured whisper of “hyung” so he wouldn’t startle. Felix was not a morning person; he was a morning negotiator.
But today felt different.
Today felt like it deserved ceremony.
Jeongin shifted closer, careful not to make the mattress creak. He propped himself up on one elbow, hovering just above Felix. He studied him for a second longer, committing the image to memory—the relaxed expression, the faint crease between his brows that only appeared when he was dreaming.
Then he leaned down and pressed the lightest kiss to Felix’s temple.
Barely there.
Felix didn’t stir. He only let out a tiny, contented sigh, the kind that felt like a reward.
Encouraged, Jeongin smiled.
He moved to Felix’s forehead next, brushing his lips gently across warm skin. Then to his cheek. Then to the tip of his nose.
Each kiss was soft, experimental at first, like he was testing the waters. But with every small peck, his confidence grew. The weight of the past weeks—of doubt, of hesitation—had lifted. There was no fear in the way he touched him now. Only affection.
Jeongin began to pepper Felix’s face with quick, playful kisses. Across his brow. Along his jawline. Down the bridge of his nose where his freckles were most concentrated, as if he was mapping them one by one.
“Hyung,” Jeongin whispered between kisses, his voice warm and amused. “Wake up, sunshine.”
Felix’s eyebrows scrunched slightly, the tiniest wrinkle forming between them. His lips twitched, almost like he was fighting a smile in his sleep.
Jeongin pressed another kiss to his cheek, louder this time.
Felix inhaled sharply, then exhaled through his nose in a soft huff. His hand twitched against the mattress. Slowly—very slowly—a lazy grin spread across his face.
He still didn’t open his eyes.
Instead, he tilted his head back just enough to give Jeongin better access, an unconscious invitation.
“Mm,” Felix murmured, voice rough and deeper than usual, thick with sleep. “Keep going.”
Jeongin froze for half a second, heart skipping.
Felix’s eyes remained closed, but the smile widened.
“I could get used to this alarm clock,” he added, his words slightly slurred in the most endearing way.
Jeongin laughed quietly, the sound bright and clear in the stillness of the room. It echoed softly off the walls, filling the space where tension used to live.
“Oh, you could?” he teased.
To prove his point, he leaned down and planted an exaggerated, dramatic kiss right on Felix’s cheekbone.
Felix’s eyes finally fluttered open, just one at first. The brown iris caught the morning light, sparkling with affection and unmistakable mischief.
“You’re very enthusiastic today,” Felix observed, voice still gravelly.
“We have a recording session in an hour,” Jeongin reminded him, though there was no urgency in his tone. “Manager hyung will be here soon.”
Felix groaned softly but didn’t look upset. If anything, he looked amused.
Instead of sitting up, he reached up and gently wrapped his hand around the back of Jeongin’s neck. His fingers were warm, thumb brushing lightly over skin.
With one smooth motion, he pulled Jeongin down until their foreheads touched.
The contact was simple. Intimate. Grounding.
“Just five more minutes?” Felix pleaded, though his eyes were fully open now, bright and aware. “The world can wait five minutes for the chick and the fox to get ready.”
Jeongin rolled his eyes at the dramatic phrasing, but his lips betrayed him by curving upward.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“Charming,” Felix corrected softly.
Their noses brushed.
Outside, faint sounds of the city were beginning to wake—distant traffic, a door closing somewhere down the hall, the low murmur of another member stirring in their own room. The day was lining up, ready to sweep them into its current of schedules and cameras and expectations.
But here, in this narrow bed, the world felt very small and very safe.
Jeongin hesitated for only a second before surrendering.
He shifted, carefully sliding down until his head rested against Felix’s chest. The movement was natural, practiced, like gravity itself had decided that this was the correct arrangement of their bodies.
Felix’s arms came around him without hesitation.
Warm. Secure. Certain.
Jeongin could hear the steady beat of Felix’s heart beneath his ear. A constant rhythm. A quiet promise. The kind of sound that made everything else fade into background noise.
Felix’s fingers drifted lazily through Jeongin’s hair, combing gently through soft strands. Not hurried. Not distracted. Just there.
“You’re really clingy in the mornings,” Jeongin murmured, though he made no attempt to move away.
Felix hummed thoughtfully. “You started it.”
“I did not.”
“You weaponized kisses before 8 a.m.”
Jeongin laughed again, softer this time, the sound muffled against Felix’s shirt. “You liked it.”
“Very much,” Felix admitted without embarrassment.
Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t the fragile kind from before. This silence was full. Comfortable. It didn’t demand to be filled.
Jeongin let his eyes close.
Felix pressed a soft kiss to the top of Jeongin’s head.
The gesture was gentle but deliberate.
Felix’s arms tightened slightly, just enough to make the embrace feel protective. Possessive in the softest way. Like he was holding something precious.
The world outside their room would expect them to be bright and polished and endlessly energetic in less than an hour. They would step into studios and face microphones and pretend they hadn’t stayed up too late talking about feelings under the night sky.
But right now, they didn’t have to perform.
They could just exist.
Jeongin sat up to traced a lazy line over Felix’s collarbone with his fingertip, absentminded and affectionate. Felix shivered slightly at the touch, then smiled.
“You’re going to make me late on purpose,” Felix accused gently.
“Maybe,” Jeongin replied, voice light. “I like seeing you flustered.”
Felix gasped in mock offense. “I do not get flustered.”
Jeongin lifted his head just enough to look at him. “Hyung. You absolutely do.”
Felix opened his mouth to argue, then paused.
His cheeks were faintly pink.
Jeongin raised an eyebrow triumphantly.
Felix narrowed his eyes playfully before leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to Jeongin’s lips. Soft. Brief. Sweet.
“Five minutes,” Felix reminded him.
Jeongin blinked, caught off guard.
Then he smiled.
“Okay,” he whispered.
He settled back down, curling closer. Felix’s hand resumed its slow path through his hair. The sunlight shifted slightly higher on the wall. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed sleepily.
Time didn’t stop, but it slowed enough to feel intentional.
Five minutes wasn’t long.
But in those five minutes, wrapped in warmth and quiet certainty, it felt like they had all the mornings in the world.