He looked angelic.
Though, truthfully, he always did.
Yoongi just didn't get the chance to study him freely as he was now.
His chest rising and falling in a serene pattern.
The neckline of his soft, cotton shirt slipping over his shoulder.
His slender legs tangled in the thick blankets.
His messy, unkempt hair falling around his sleeping face.
Gentle features relaxed and undisturbed, lashes fluttering over his slightly flushed cheeks.
And plump, pink lips parted with each breath, small fingers clutching onto him as though afraid he would disappear.
As if he could ever tear himself away from such a sight.
He was so beautiful, and it was taking everything within him to hold back, to resist the urge to press their lips together, and taste him, allow his hands to roam over his warm, daffodil stained skin, to whisper the words he'd kept locked inside his mind for months now against his ear, and to pepper kisses over his gorgeous body.
He was completely and utterly in love with Park Jimin, and he was well aware of the fact.
But for now, he would simply hold him, reside to listening to his heart beating against his, his breath tickling his neck, to trace the slope of his nose, and memorize the shape of his body cuddled into him, and breathe in his intoxicating scent, reside to loving him in this way, loving him secretly, and quietly, until Jimin was ready to hear those words again.
But not yet.
Not yet.