Birds' chirp, dimmed evening sunlight and deep-rooted floral scent — Jimin wakes up to it with his head feeling lighter than ever. It takes a prolonged moment for him to blink his eyes open, adjusting it to his surroundings. And when it does, the foolish smile on his face cannot be helped.

Jeongguk's cottage always smelled like him, each part of it whatsoever. It wasn't even a surprising fact yet Jimin couldn't help but delve into it like a starry-eyed child. Here in this bed, within the sheets that the florist uses, the author made home as if it were his own. And he was welcomed — after years of finding a home, he was finally welcomed. The gloomy thought had the ability to make him frown, deem himself unlucky for he found this feeling too late in his life.

But he wasn't to let it go this time, he'd promised himself.

Sitting within the rustling sheets, Jimin spares a glance at his body, at his unbuttoned shirt and loosened pants, the product of intimacy they'd shared before Jimin had lost himself to the slumber under the loving caress of Jeongguk's fingers in his hair. Usually, the author Jimin Park would deem this behaviour unkempt — taking naps in the middle of a day when he could be achieving something productive?

Though, as it appears, poet Jimin Park is quite fond of the mid-day naps with his lover by his side.

He leaves the bed, finding his shoes to slip his feet into and button back his shirt for the sake of dignity. And just like that, he's walking out of the room. Greeted by the evening sunlight filtered through the cottage windows, he's met with the scent of apples. The florist in the kitchen seems to be baking something, perhaps a pie, Jimin makes a wild guess. With his back turned to the author, and in his loose trousers and a brown sweater, the taller hums a tune under his breath. It's a classic, Jimin can tell, however his mind may be a little foggy to put a finger on it.

He stands by the kitchenette, still invisible to the florist who carefully places the pie above the counter, hands covered with mittens. The sight fills Jimin with warmth that would certainly be indescribable otherwise. It is as if all his life, the word home hadn't made more sense than it does now.

He clears his throat, making his presence known. Jeongguk turns over, lips curling in a smile that reaches his eyes. And even when Jimin should have had his fill kissing those eyes and each part of his face hours ago, he'd still long to do so once more.

"You're awake," the florist says, taking his steps towards Jimin until they're merely a few inches apart. His eyes meet Jeongguk's — the freckles dotted across his cheeks and birthmarks like constellations close enough to be traced — and he shan't ever say he doesn't like it.

"As awake as I could be," he whispers.

The florist, however, zones on his face, as though he has something on it.

"Your eyes do grow puffier when you nap, after all."

Jimin chuckles, shaking his head. "Pleased to see you reaching a conclusion."

Jeongguk joins him then, laughing with an open heart. It's all warm, warm. Mellow. Once he stops, he closes the distance between them, leaning in to brush his lips across Jimin's eyes and pressing a kiss to his cheek. Peach blossoms, freesias, apples, and sunshine. Everything good. Everything home.

"I was presumptuous enough to make this decision by myself. So, I baked us an apple pie—" the florist begins, turning back towards the pie but Jimin catches a hold of his arm, pulling him back. This is the most brave he would be now, tugging Jeongguk closer and capturing his lips in a kiss.

Jeongguk's breath hitches and then he sighs into the kiss, tilting his head to return it. His lips taste sweet, like the apple pie which he must have tasted beforehand. They're warm, and they're all that fills Jimin's heart with contentment. Even when they part moments later, the author is weak enough to steal another peck — one at the corner of his lips, and one on the birthmark below his lips.

The florist sighs with his eyes closed, bliss painted across his face. "This shall only get better," he whispers, "but I mustn't grow used to it."

"Why not?"

"I can't say," Jeongguk's eyes are soft when they meet Jimin's, and he raises his hand to cup the older's cheek, however only a mitten is dragged across his skin.

They burst into laughter, leaning into each other. Jimin feels like his heart would burst too. Has he ever been this happy?

"I ought to take these cursed things off," Jeongguk mutters, quickly tugging the mittens off. Jimin reaches to hold his hands right then, bringing them to his lips, where the sweet laughter still lingers.

"So, you baked us a pie?"

"Mm-hmm," he nods, casually letting his hands rest in Jimin's hold against his chest. "Evening pie. And then for dinner we shall have a roasted duck with sweet potatoes—"

"There there, my love," Jimin gives his hand a squeeze. "Who is to eat all this?"

"We do," mutters Jeongguk, his eyes twice as endearing in Jimin's vision. "You are staying the night, are you not?"

"I am," he replies, "but I'd be incredibly pleased to eat just what you do. Nothing spectacular."

The florist seems to think, humming along. "But we are so having the roasted duck the next time you stay." With this, he lets Jimin's hold go, turning over to check on the pie.

Leaving the author in a misery of his own.

He is to tell Jeongguk about his return to London, and has to invite him to dinner at Mister Conley's tomorrow night. And yet he hasn't found himself a perfect set of words to say it all. Each time he'd grown berated and had silenced himself with Jeongguk's lips against his. Just how is he to tell the florist that there shall not be a next time for him to stay the night anytime soon?

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Sun sets with the casual chat over dinner. The pair talks about anything and everything. Ever since Jimin had stepped into this town, he'd been intrigued by the vision that Jeongguk held for this world. Had it been that he wasn't quite exposed to it? Or was he just too kind for this cruel world? He couldn't tell. He had a tendency to change Jimin's firm views that he had formed over the years of dismaying observation.

He had a glow to his existence, a light that never seems to go out. Jimin was merely a firefly, if he'd put it this way, basking in the warm glow of Jeongguk's being.

He may not have known him for long, but the past few months of his life felt no less than a rebirth to him. It was like passing through a door where he could leave his old, tattered and ignorant self behind, and can only hold onto a few possessions to bring along. He certainly finds himself unable to tell if he was all new now, or if this change was gradual. But if he had met Jeongguk before the change, then he sure has brought him along as a prized possession.

Continuing to revel in the florist's glow, Jimin lays with him on his bed, limbs tangled and fingers intertwined. Jeongguk rests his head over his heart, and he vaguely wonders if he can hear it pick up speed. He lets the florist play with his fingers, buttons on his shirt, tracing aimless patterns with his delicate touch — the touch that tends to petals. He isn't used to this, it's so new. But why would that make him want to let go of this?

His free hand brushes in Jeongguk's hair, the streaks of white roots showing through. Sometimes he couldn't believe that they'd spent a good portion of their lives like this, without each other. And what was to happen if Joe hadn't picked this particular town for him to come to? What if it had been another town just close to this one? A blink of change and Jimin wouldn't have had Jeongguk in his arms right here.

A man who so had the proclivity to become his beloved. So much, so quick.

"Was the pie not to your liking?"

"Hm? What?" Jimin blinks.

Jeongguk sighs, a soft sound, and turns to face the author. Jimin's hand resumes its position against his ear, caressing the shell.

"You've been awfully silent since dinner. I— Was it the pie? I shouldn't have—"

"No, no, my dear," he is quick to say. "I... I had something to speak to you about."

The florist frowns. "I cannot assume it's anything pleasant if it took you this long to say it."

It's Jimin's turn to sigh. "I can't be sure of that."

Jeongguk rubs an assuring hand against Jimin's chest, as if to anchor his heart. Oh, were he to know the hold he already has on it. "Do say."

"Well, my book," he begins. "It's complete. The process of editing and publishing requires my presence there. In London."

The florist's hand halts, a tremble of breath exhaled as though he'd held it in for long. "You're leaving," he brings the obvious to his lips.

"I have to."

"How... How long will it be?"

"A month or so. I'm uncertain."

Jeongguk lowers his gaze, seeming to be thinking. And nothing pains Jimin more than having to witness the downturn of his lips. Before he knows, he is reaching to brush his thumb against his lower lip.

"Jeongguk, say something."

"If I may ask you to stay, would it be harder to leave?"

"Yes..."

"Then I shan't."

There is an ache in the author's chest.

"I shall return to you," Jimin promises.

"Bellbarrow isn't your home."

"And who is to decide that? It is my home. It is my home now."

"Jimin—"

"You are my home."

"You cannot possibly overlook your entire life for a few weeks."

"Jeongguk," Jimin's hold on the florist's hand tightens. "I don't speak fondly of this world for it has treated me cruelly. And then I find someone who tends to me as though I were a flower, a delicate one. Call me selfish but I do not wish to let go of him, not over my entire life."

When Jeongguk breathes, it's a shuddered sigh, and a blink has his eyes glazed. He never gives Jimin a chance to question, leaning in to kiss his lips. They have shared many kisses over the past weeks, but none of them has been quite like this. It is a confession, it is vulnerable — Jimin tells so with the way Jeongguk's lips linger a little longer against his, his fingers holding onto the collar with a slight tremble. When he exhales, it sounds like a silent sob. Jimin's heart sinks.

"Are you crying?"

"No," Jeongguk shakes his head, pressing himself closer to Jimin as if they're not already one body. "I'm in love."

"Does love make you cry?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, blinking the possible tears away. "It's my first time."

Jimin cups his cheek then, kissing his eyes and hearing the florist hitch in a pained breath. "These eyes 'lone are my muse. They're not to cry."

"And what if I can't help it?"

"Then I shall kiss them everytime."

Jeongguk sighs then, a sound akin to annoyance produced at the base of his throat. But Jimin knows he will never be annoyed at him. The florist buries his face in Jimin's neck. "It sure is painful," he then mutters.

"What is?"

"Having an author be in love with you."

Regardless of the heavy heart, it makes Jimin laugh.

"No really," Jeongguk continues to complain, "these eyes have done me no good but aid me see all this life. And then you come over, making me feel as though I have gems for eyes."

"Oh, but you do, dearest."

"Jimin."

"I am but an author in love. You must embrace yourself for that," he says, "and much more."

"Too little time to embrace anything," Jeongguk says, a sad smile on his lips. "You're leaving."

"Should you answer, I shall write to you every other day."

"I'm afraid I'm not good with words."

"Would that matter?"

The florist huffs a laugh, "No."

"Then write to me, tell me all sorts of things."

"Alright," Jeongguk nods, eyes heavy when his hand rests against Jimin's shoulder, pulling him in an embrace that speaks of longing.

The author finds nothing better than to hold Jeongguk close, kisses pressed to his hair and fingertips caressing each part of his body that he wishes to memorize. "Mister Conley arranged a farewell dinner for me tomorrow. I should like for you to be there," he whispers into their serenity.

"But I don't know any of them."

"You know me," Jimin supplies, "and you are to be my friend, my guest."

The florist finds his eyes. "And would they not wonder why we got so close so quickly?"

"Quick, was it?" The author deadpans. "I'd say it was an eternity until I finally got to kiss you."

"Could've been sooner," Jeongguk mutters, earning a chuckle from Jimin. "But it is a valid concern."

"They needn't worry about it. You and I, we're Korean. That should be enough of a reason for me to like you better."

Jeongguk fixes him with a glare. "I shall hope that was a joke."

Jimin laughs, loud and light. "Yet less comical than this concern, my dear. Believe you me, no one is to wonder about it."

The florist bites his lip with a small nod of acknowledgment.

"So," Jimin begins again, a hearty pause later. "Shall I expect you there?"

"Yes," he replies, "yes, you may."