#AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF JUNMIN'S PARTS GOD | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seokpapi-blog · 7 years ago

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CHARCOAL (M) | kth

“The thing with Taehyung is that he use his hands a lot while drawing and get his fingers stained with charcoal, a lot. But when I come back home later, I love to see the same black prints all over my body.”

+Pairing: Taehyung x femlale MC ft Seokjin +Genre: College!AU, Artist!kth +Warnings: sexual assault victim +Note: GUYS! This is an adaptation of the book “Easy” by Tammara Webber. I decided to start like this because im not sure of my writing skill yet, so enjoy!

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“Kim T, I’m having more trouble with the current material than I let on, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to make it to one of your tutoring sessions. Too bad for both of us that my ex didn’t dump me early enough in the semester to drop this class! (No offense. You’re probably an econ major and like this stuff.) I’ve started researching online journals for the project. Thanks for decoding Dr. Park’s notes before sending them to me. If you’d have forwarded them without a translation, I’d be searching for a tall building/ overpass/ water tower from which to yell “goodbye cruel world.” Y/N”

“Y/N, Please, no leaping from towering structures. Do you have any idea how much damage that would do to my tutoring reputation?? If nothing else, think of the effect on me. ;) I create worksheets for the tutoring sessions. I’ve attached the past three weeks’ worth. Use them as study guides, or fill them in and send them back to me, and we’ll see where you’re getting confused. Actually, I’m an engineering major, but we have to take econ. I think everyone should, though – it’s a good starting point for explaining how money, politics and commerce work together to create the total chaos that is our economic system. KT PS – How did the regional competitions go? And btw, your ex is obviously a moron.”

I downloaded the worksheets, turning over his last statement in my mind. Whether my tutor knew Seokjin or not—unlikely, given the size of the university and their differing majors—he’d taken my side. Me, a girl so absurdly unhinged by a breakup that she’d skipped class for two weeks.

He was smart and funny, and after only three days, I already looked forward to his name in my inbox, our back-and-forth banter. All of a sudden, I wondered what he looked like. God. Just yesterday, I’d left class telling myself to ignore the brooding stares of a guy in class because I needed time to get over Seokjin’s desertion.

It didn’t matter. I needed time to recover, even if Kim was right. Even if Kennedy was a moron.

I clicked on the first worksheet and opened my econ text, and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Kim, The worksheets are definitely going to help. I already feel less scared of failing this class. I did the first two - when you have time, could you look them over? Thank you again for wasting your time on me. I’ll try to get caught up quickly. I’m not used to being the student who’s a pain in the butt.

I had two freshmen from rival schools in competition with each other at regionals. Both asked me, separately thank God, who was my favorite. (I told each of them, “You are, of course.” Was that wrong??) They were very smug with each other when they came to get their basses from my truck, and I prayed that neither would mention the favorite status in front of the other. BOYS.

Engineering? Wow. No wonder you seem so brainy.

Y/N”

"Y/N, The worksheets look great. I marked a couple of minor mistakes that could trip you up on an exam, so check those.

Ah, sounds like your freshmen have crushes on you? Not surprised. A bass-playing college girl would have rendered me speechless at 14.

Of course I’m brainy! I’m the all-knowing tutor. And in case you’re wondering - yes, you’re my favorite. ;)

KT”

Saturday night, Elee was once again threatening to drag me out of our room, ignoring my protests and reluctance. This time, three of us were heading to the strip to hit some clubs with our fake IDs.

“Don’t you remember how the party last weekend went for me?” I asked when she shoved a clingy black dress into my outspread arms. Of course she didn’t remember; I hadn’t told her. All she knew was that I’d bailed early.

“Y/N, babe, I know this is hard. But you can’t let Seokjin win! You can’t let him make you a hermit, or keep you scared of falling for someone new. God, I love this part of it—the hunt for a new guy, everything unknown, untried—the mass of hot prospects in front of you, waiting to be discovered. If I didn’t lust after Jongkyung so hard, I’d be jealous of you.”

The way she described it, the process sounded like an expedition to an exotic continent. I didn’t share her feelings, not in the least. The idea of finding a new guy sounded exhausting and depressing. “Elee, I don’t think I’m ready—”

“That’s what you said last weekend, and you did fine!” She frowned, thinking, and for the hundredth time, I almost told her about Junmin. “Even if you did leave early.” She rehung the black dress I didn’t intend to wear, and I held my tongue, losing my chance again. I wasn’t sure why I couldn’t tell her. I was mostly afraid she’d be infuriated. More unreasonably, I was afraid she’d be disbelieving. Neither response was something I wanted to contend with; I just wanted to forget.

I thought of Taehyung, annoyed that his presence in econ was making that process impossible, because he was irrevocably connected to the horror of that night. He’d not looked at me at all Friday—as far as I knew. Every time I snuck a look back at him, he appeared to be sketching rather than taking notes, his black pencil held low between his fingers, a concentrated expression on his face. When class ended, he stuck the pencil behind his ear, turned and walked from the classroom without a backward glance, first one out the door.

“Now this will show off the goods,” Elee said, breaking into my reverie. Next up was a stretchy, low-cut purple top. Yanking it from the hanger, she tossed it to me. “Put on your skinny jeans and those badass boots. This fits your tough, I’m-a-challenge mood better anyway. You have to dress to attract the right guys, and if I make you too cute, you’ll flick them all away with glares and irritated rolls of your eyes.”

I sighed and she laughed, pulling the black dress over her own head. Elee knew me far too well.

I’d lost count of the number of drinks Elee had pressed into my hand, telling me that since she was the designated driver, I was required to drink for two. “I can’t touch any of these hotties, either—so I have to live vicariously. Now finish that margarita, stop scowling, and stare at one of these guys until he knows he won’t lose a limb if he asks you to dance.”

“I’m not scowling!” I scowled, obeying and tossing the drink back. I grimaced. Cheap tequila refused to be concealed by an abundance of even cheaper margarita mix, but that’s what you get for no cover charge and five dollar drinks.

Still relatively early, the small club we decided to occupy for the night wasn’t yet overcrowded with the hundreds of college students and townies it would hold soon. Elee, Mina and I claimed a corner of the near-vacant floor. Having downed the drinks and dressed the part, I moved to the music, gradually loosening up while laughing at Elee’s cheer poses and Mina’s ballet movements. The first guy to interrupt us approached Elee, but she shook her head as her lips mouthed the word boyfriend. She turned him toward me and I thought: That’s me: SINGLE. No more relationship. No more Seokjin. No more You’re my Kkul.

“Wanna dance?” the guy yelled over the music, fidgeting as though he was ready to bolt if I turned him down. I nodded, choking back the pointless, almost physical pain. I was no one’s girlfriend, for the first time in three years.

We moved to an open space a few feet from Elee and Mina—who also had a boyfriend. It didn’t take long to figure out that the two of them planned to point every guy who asked one of them to dance at me. I was their pet project for the night.

Two hours later, I’d danced with too many guys to remember, dodging wandering hands and turning down any drinks not handed to me by Elee. Crowded around a tall table near the floor, we leaned hips on the barstools surrounding it, watching the surrounding hookup activity. As Mina returned from bopping and pirouetting her way to the bathroom and back, I asked if we could go yet, and Elee fixed me with a look she usually reserved for ill-mannered steakhouse patrons. I smirked at her and sipped my drink.I knew when the next guy walked up behind me, and that Elee and Mina approved, because their eyes widened simultaneously, focusing over my shoulder. Fingers grazed the back of my arm, and I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before turning around.

Good thing, too—because it was Taehyung who stood there, his eyes dropping to my cleavage for a split second. He crooked an eyebrow and gazed into my eyes with a faint smile, unapologetic for looking. The heels on my boots were killing my feet, but they weren’t tall enough to bring me eye-to-eye. Rather than raising his voice like everyone else, he leaned close to my ear and asked, “Dance with me?” I felt his warm breath and inhaled the scent of his aftershave—something basic and male—before he withdrew, his eyes on mine, waiting for my answer. An enthusiastic nudge between my shoulder blades told me Elee’s vote: go dance with him.

I nodded, and he took my hand and made his way to the floor, maneuvering through the crowd, which parted easily for him. Once we reached the worn oak floor, he turned and pulled me close, never letting go of my hand. As we found the rhythm of the slow-paced song, swaying together, he took my other hand in his and moved both hands behind my back, gently holding me captive. My breasts grazed against his chest and I struggled not to gasp at the subtle contact. I’d barely let anyone else touch me at all tonight, adamantly refusing all slow dances. Dizzy from weak-but-plentiful margaritas, I closed my eyes and let him lead, telling myself that the difference was the alcohol in my blood, nothing more. A minute later, he released my fingers and spread his hands across my lower back, and my hands moved to his biceps. Solid, as I knew they would be. Tracking a path, my palms encountered equally hard shoulders.

Finally, I hooked my fingers behind his neck and opened my eyes. His gaze was penetrating, not wavering for a moment, and my pulse hammered under his silent scrutiny. Finally, I stretched up toward his ear, and he leaned down to accommodate my question. “S-so what’s your major?” I breathed.From the corner of my eye, I watched his mouth twitch up on one side. “Do you really want to talk about that?” He maintained the closeness, our torsos pressed together chest to thigh, ostensibly waiting for my answer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so full of pure, unqualified desire.I swallowed. “As opposed to talking about what?” He chuckled, and I felt the vibrations of his chest against mine. “As opposed to not talking.” His hands at my waist gripped a little tighter, thumbs pressing into my ribcage, fingers still at my lower back. I blinked, one moment not understanding what his words implied, and the next knowing unreservedly. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lied. He leaned closer still, his smooth cheek whispering against mine as he murmured “Yes, you do.” Struck again by his scent—clean and subtle. I felt an impulse to bring my fingertips to his face and trail them over his jaw. His skin would feel so soft againstt mine now if he kissed me, hard. I would feel nothing but his mouth on mine—and maybe that slim ring at the edge of his lip…The errant thought made my breath catch. When his lips touched just south of my earlobe, I thought I might pass out. “Let’s just dance,” he said. Pulling back just far enough to stare into my eyes, he drew my body against his, and my legs obeyed where his said to go.

“Bitch, who was that hot guy?” Elee carefully maneuvered her daddy-furnished Volvo sedan around the people weaving drunkenly through the parking lot. “If I wasn’t stone cold sober, I’d think he was a figment of my sex-starved imagination.”

“Psshh,” I mumbled, eyes closed, my spinning head lolling back against the headrest. “Don’t even talk to me about sex-starved.”

A minute later, Mina piped up from the back seat. “You haven’t answered the question, Y/N!” Her speech was almost as slurred as mine, my name pronounced in distinct syllables. “Who was that beautiful guy, and more importantly, why didn’t you solve your sex-starvedness with him? Holy hell, I think I’d be willing to boot Jinyoung outta bed for a night with him!”

“Slut,” Elee said, rolling her eyes into her rearview mirror.

Mina laughed. “In this case… Hell. Yeah.”

They both grew quiet, staring at me, waiting for me to reveal who he was. I mentally sorted through everything I knew about him. He’d saved me from Junmin’s attack, which I hadn’t told anyone about. He’d beaten the crap out of Junmin, which I likewise hadn’t told anyone. He’d stared at me all through economics on Wednesday, and then ignored me completely on Friday, which I hadn’t told anyone. He worked at the Coffe. And he kept asking me if I was okay… but he hadn’t asked me that tonight.

Tonight had been something else altogether. By unspoken agreement, we’d danced several dances without stopping—slow, fast, and everything in between. His hands never left my body, triggering an upsurge of longing I’d not felt in a very long time—longer than four or five weeks ago. His hands hadn’t wandered inappropriately, his fingers not even teasing beneath the fabric of my top at the waist, but they’d seared the skin beneath regardless.

And then he disappeared. Bending, his lips next to my ear, he thanked me for the dances, led me back to my table, and vanished into the throng of people. I hadn’t seen him again, and could only assume he’d left the club.

“His name is Taehyung. He’s in my economics class. And he draws stuff.”

Mina began giggling and slapped the leather seat. “He draws stuff? What kind of stuff? Naked girls? That’s pretty much the extent of most guys’ artistic endeavors. Usually not even whole girls. Just boobs.”

Elee laughed along with her. “I don’t know what he draws. He was just… sketching something in class Friday. I don’t think he listened to the lecture at all.”

“Oh no, Elee!” Maggie leaned as far up as her seatbelt would allow. “Sounds like that god of a man is a bad student. We know what that means for Y/N.”

I frowned. “What does it mean?”

Elee shook her head, smiling. “Come on, Y/N—have you ever in your life been attracted to a bad boy? Or a boy who’s, um, academically challenged? In other words, a boy who isn’t—gasp!—a brainiac?”

My mouth fell open. “Shut up! Are you saying I’m an intellectual snob?”

“No! We didn’t say you were—we don’t mean that. We just mean… you sure didn’t look indifferent to this Taehyung guy tonight, while you two danced together for like ever, and it sounds like he’s maybe not your usual type—” “My only ‘type’ has been Seokjin for the past three years! Who knows what my type is?” “Don’t get huffy. You know what I mean—you don’t even crush on dumb guys.” “Well, who does?” I rebelled against the idea that Taehyung was dumb. Maybe he was unmotivated in economics, but nothing about him seemed unintelligent.

“And all of this talk is for—?”

Elee grinned at me. “You’re ready for a new man, my girl.”

“Ooohhh,” Mina sighed.

“Um. I don’t think—”

“Exactly. Don’t think. You’re gonna seduce this Taehyung guy and rebound the hell out of him. That’s the thing about boys—they don’t have any qualms about being the rebound guy because they don’t hang around for long anyway. He probably lives for being the rebound guy—especially in a situation like this, where he’ll get to teach you all sorts of naughty stuff.”

Mina endorsed Elee’s crazy idea with one heavily sighed word. “Lucky.”

I thought of Taehyung’s hands at my waist, his mouth grazing my ear, and I shivered. I recalled his penetrating gaze Wednesday during class, and the breath in my lungs went shallow. Maybe I was experiencing alcohol perspective, and everything would look different tomorrow—but at the moment, Elee’s crazy idea was starting to sound almost not crazy.

I was a ball of nerves as I approached the classroom Monday morning, unsure if I should initiate the man-snaring strategy I’d agreed to test on my unsuspecting classmate, or abandon it fully while I still could. He walked into the room ahead of me, and I watched his eyes flick over my recently assigned seat, and the vacant one next to Seokjin, who was already seated, thank God. I had about thirty seconds to reconsider the whole thing.

Go time.

I took a deep breath. I had three minutes until class started. Elee said I needed one minute, no more than two. “But two is pushing it,” she insisted, “because then you look too interested. One is better.”

I slid into the seat next to him, but perched on the edge, making it obvious that I had no intention of remaining. His eyes snapped to mine immediately, dark brows disappearing into that messy hair falling over his forehead. His eyes were almost colorless. I’d never seen anyone with eyes so light.

He was definitely startled by my appearance next to him. Good, according to Elee and Mina.

“Hey,” I said, a subtle smile on my lips, hoping I appeared somewhere between interested and indifferent. According to Elee and Mina, that impression was a vital part of the strategy.

“Hey.” He opened his econ text, concealing the open sketchbook in front of him. Before he obscured it, I caught a detailed illustration of the venerated old oak tree in the center of campus.

I swallowed. Interested and indifferent. “So, it just occurred to me that I don’t remember your name from the other night. Too many margaritas, I guess.”

He wet his lips and stared at me a moment before answering, and I blinked, wondering if he was purposefully making my loosely-sustained indifference more challenging to maintain. “It’s Taehyung. And I don’t think I gave it.”

In the next moment, Dr. Park entered noisily near the podium, catching his handled case in the door. An audible, “Dammit,” echoed through the lecture hall, thanks to the planned acoustics of the room. Taehyung and I smiled at each other as our fellow classmates tittered.

“So… you, um, called me Kkul, before?” I said, and his head tilted slightly. “My name is actually Y/N…”

His brows drew down slightly. “Okay.”

I cleared my throat and stood—surprising him again, judging by his expression. “Nice to meet you, Taehyung.” I smiled again before turning away and darting to my assigned seat.

Keeping my attention on the lecture and defying the compulsion to peek over my shoulder was excruciating. I was sure I felt Taehyung’s eyes boring into the back of my head. Like an out-of-reach itch, the sensation nettled me for fifty minutes straight, and it took herculean effort to refrain from turning around.

Unknowingly, Jungkook helped by making distracting observations on Dr. Park, like tallying the number of times he said, “Uuummm,” during the lecture with marks at the top of his notebook, and pointing out the fact that our professor was sporting one navy and one brown sock.

Instead of lingering at the end of class to see what Taehyung would do (speak to me or ignore me?), instead of waiting for Seokjin to leave (funny, I’d paid scant attention to him for the past hour—that was a first), I swung my backpack onto my shoulder and practically sprinted from the room without looking at either of them. Emerging from the side door into the crisp fall air, I sucked in a deep breath.

When Elee and I joined the line at the Coffe, I didn’t see Taehyung.

“Rats.” She craned her neck, making sure he wasn’t one of the people behind the counter. “He was here last Monday, right?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, but his work schedule is probably unpredictable.”

She elbowed me lightly. “Not so much. That’s him there, right?”

He came through a door to the back with an industrial-sized bag of coffee. My physical reaction to him was unnerving. It was as though my insides all clenched up at the sight of him, and when they unwound, everything restarted at once—my heart rate accelerating, lungs pumping air, brainwaves running amok.

“Ooh, Y/N, he’s got ink, too,” Elee murmured appreciatively. “Just when I didn’t think he could get any hotter…”

My eyes fell to his forearms, flexing as he sliced the bag open. Tattooed designs wrapped around his wrists, contiguous symbols and script running up both arms and disappearing into the sleeves of the gray knit shirt, which were shoved above his elbows. I’d never seen him without his sleeves pulled to the wrists. Even Saturday night, he’d worn long sleeves—a faded black button-down, open over a white t-shirt.

Now, I wondered how far the tattoos spread—just the sleeves of his arms? His back? His chest?

Elee tugged my arm as the line moved forward. “You’re botching our carefully crafted indifferent act, by the way. Not that I can blame you.” She sighed. “Maybe we should bail now before he—”

I glanced at her when she fell silent, and watched a devious smile cross her face as she turned to me.

“Keep looking at me,” she said, laughing as though we were having an amusing conversation. “He’s staring at you. And I mean staring. That boy is undressing you with his eyes. Can you feel it?” Her expression was triumphant.

Could I feel his stare? I can now, thanks, I thought. My face heated.

“Hoe, you’re blushing,” she whispered, her dark eyes widening.

“No shit.” My teeth were clenched, voice tight. “Stop telling me he’s—he’s—”

“Undressing you with his eyes?” She laughed again and I’d never wanted to kick her more. “Okay, okay—but Y/N, do not worry. You’ve got this. I don’t know what you’ve done to him, but he’s ready to sit up and beg. Trust me.” She glanced in his direction. “Okay, he’s starting a new batch of coffee now. You can do your own staring.”

We stepped closer; there were only two people in front of us. I watched Taehyung replace the filter, measure out the coffee, and set the controls. His green apron was haphazardly secured in the back��more of a knot than a bow.

He turned then, eyes on the second register as he punched buttons and brought it to life. I wondered if he planned to ignore me as I had him during class. It would serve me right, playing this game. Just as the guy in front of me began his detailed drink order to the girl at the first register, Taehyung’s gaze swung up to meet mine. “Next?” The steel gray of his shirt set off the gray in his eyes, the blue disappearing. “Y/N.” He greeted me with a smirk, and I worried that he could read my mind, and the devious plans Elee had implanted in it. “Americano today, or something else?”

He remembered my drink order from a week ago.

I nodded, and he flashed a barely-there grin at my bemusement, ringing up the order and printing the cup with a sharpie. Instead of passing it to a coworker, though, he made the drink himself.

He added a protective sleeve and a lid and handed me the cup. I couldn’t read his trace of a smile. “Have a nice day.” Looking over my shoulder, he said, “Next?”

I joined Elee at the pick-up counter, confused and sulking.

“He made the drink for you?” She retrieved her drink and followed me to the condiment counter.

“Yeah.” I removed the lid and added sugar and milk while she shook cinnamon over her latte. “But he just handed it over like I was any other customer and took the next guy’s order.” We watched him interact with customers. He didn’t once glance my way.

“I could have sworn he was so into you he couldn’t see straight,” she mused as we left, rounding a corner to join the mass of people flowing through the student center.

“Hey, baby!” Jongkyung’s voice pulled both of us from our thoughts. He snatched Elee out of the flow of people and I followed, laughing at her delighted squeal until I noticed the guy standing next to him.

My face went hot, blood pounding in my ears. As our friends kissed hello and began talking about what time they each got off work tonight, Junmi stared down at me, his mouth turning up on one side. My breath came in pants and I fought to keep the rising panic and nausea under control. I wanted to turn and run, but I was immobilized.

He couldn’t touch me here. He couldn’t hurt me here.

“Hey, Kkul.” His piercing gaze roamed over me and my skin crawled. “Lookin’ good, as always.” His words gushed flirtation, but all I felt was the threat underneath, intended or not.

The bruises had faded from his face, but weren’t entirely gone. One yellowish streak ringed his left eye, and another brushed along the right side of his nose like a pale smear. Taehyung had given him those, and only the three of us knew it. I stared back, mute, the coffee clutched in my hand. I’d once thought this boy handsome and charming—the all-American veneer he wore fooling me as thoroughly as it fooled everyone else.

I raised my chin, ignoring my physical reaction to him, and the fear causing it. “It’s Y/N.”

He cocked one eyebrow, confused. “Huh?”

Elee grabbed my elbow. “Come on, hot stuff. Don’t you have art history in like five minutes?”

I stumbled slightly as I turned and followed her, and he issued a soft, taunting laugh as I passed him. “See you around, Y/N” he teased.

My name in his mouth sent a tremor through me, and I trailed behind Elee into the sea of students. Once I could move, I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

Elee: Do you still have your coffee cup?

Me: Yes?

Elee: Take the sleeve off

Me: BITCH

Elee: His phone number?

Me: How did you know???

Elee: I’m Elee. I know all.

If Elee hadn’t texted me during class, that cup, and his number, would have been pitched into the hallway wastebasket.

So… Taehyung wasn’t writing an unnecessary drink order onto my cup, he was giving me his phone number. I entered it into my phone, wondering what I was meant to do with it. Call him? Text him?

I thought about what I knew of him: He’d come out of nowhere the night of the party. After putting a stop to the attack, some further protective trait had obliged him to see me safely back to the dorm. He’d somehow known my name that night—my nickname—but I’d never noticed him before.

He sat in the back row in economics, sketching or staring at me instead of paying attention to the lecture. Saturday night, the firm touch of his hands as we danced made my head swim, before he disappeared without explanation. He’d undressed me with his eyes, Elee said. He was cocky and self-sure. Tattooed and too hot for words.

And now, his number was programmed into my phone. It was as though he knew all about my desesperation to see another dick, and he was as willing and eager to cooperate as my friends believed he’d be.

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seokpapi-blog · 7 years ago

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CHARCOAL (M) | kth

01 02 03 04 05

Elee’s voice woke me. “dickhead, get your ass out of that bed and go save your GPA. For chrissake, if I’d let a guy throw off my academic mojo like this, I’d never hear the end of it.”

I made a dismissive sound from under the comforter before peeking out at her. “What academic mojo?”

Her hands on her hips, she was wrapped in a towel, fresh from a shower. “ Very funny, bitch. Get up.”

I sniffed, but didn’t budge. “I’m doing fine in all of my other classes. Can’t I just fail this one?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Are you even listening to yourself?”

I was listening to myself. And I was every bit as disgusted with my cowardly sentiments as Elee—if not more so. But the thought of sitting next to Seokjin for an hour-long class three days a week was unbearable. I couldn’t be sure what his newfound single status would mean in terms of open flirtations or hookups, but whatever it meant, I didn’t want to stare it in the face. Imagining the details was bad enough.

If only I hadn’t pressed him to take a class with me this semester. When we registered for fall classes, he questioned why I wanted to take economics—not a required course for my music education degree. I wondered if he had sensed, even then, that this was where we’d end up. Or if he'd known.

“I can’t.”

“You can and you will.” She ripped the comforter off. “Now get up and get in that shower. I have to get to French on time or Monsieur Bidot will question me mercilessly in passé composé. I can barely do past tense in English. God knows I can’t do it en français at ass o’clock in the morning.”

I arrived outside the classroom at straight-up 9:00, knowing that Seokjin, habitually punctual, would already be there. The classroom was large and sloped. Slipping through the back door, I spotted him, sixth row center. The seat to his right was empty—my seat. Dr. Park had passed around a seating chart the second week of class, and he used it to take attendance and give credit for class participation. I would have to talk with him after class, because there was no way I was sitting there again.

My eyes scanned the back rows. There were two empty seats. One was three rows down between a guy leaning on his hand, mostly asleep, and a girl drinking a venti something and chattering nonstop to her neighbor. The other open seat was on the back row, next to a guy who appeared to be doodling something into the margin of his textbook. I turned in that direction at the same time the professor entered a side door below, and the artist raised his head to scan the front of the classroom. I froze, recognizing my savior from two nights ago. If I could’ve moved, I would have turned and fled the classroom.

The attack came flooding back. The helplessness. The terror. The humiliation. I’d curled into a ball on my bed and cried all night, thankful for Elee’s text that she was staying with Jongkyung. I hadn’t told her what Junmin had done—partly because I knew she’d feel responsible for making me go, and for letting me leave alone. Partly because I wanted to forget it had happened at all.

“If everyone will be seated, we’ll begin.” The professor’s statement shook me from my stupor—I was the only student standing. I bolted to the empty chair between the chatty girl and the sleepy guy.

She glanced at me, never pausing in her weekend confession of how trashed she’d been and where and with whom. The guy unsquinted his eyes just enough to notice when I slid into the bolted-down chair between them, but he didn’t otherwise move.

“Is this seat taken?” I whispered to him.

He shook his head and mumbled, “It was. But she dropped. Or stopped coming. Whatever.”

I pulled a spiral from my bag, relieved. I tried not to look at Seokjin, but the angled seating made that effort challenging. His perfectly styled dirty blond hair and the familiar uncreased button-down shirt drew my eyes every time he moved. I’d known him since ninth grade. I’d watched him alter his style from a boy who wore mesh shorts and sneakers every day to the guy who sent his fitted shirts out to be pressed, kept his shoes scuff-free, and always looked as though he’d just stepped from the cover of a magazine. I’d seen more than one teacher turn her head as he passed before snapping her gaze away from his perfect, off-limits body.

Junior year, we had pre-AP English together. He focused on me from the first day of class, flashing his smile in my direction before taking his seat, inviting me to join his study group, inquiring about my weekend plans—and finally making himself a part of them. I’d never been so confidently pursued. As our class president, he was familiar to everyone, and he made a concerted effort to become familiar with everyone. As an athlete, he was a credit to the baseball team. As a student, his academic standing was in the top ten percent. As a member of the debate team, he was known for conclusive arguments and an unbeaten record.

As a boyfriend, he was patient and attentive, never pushing me too far or too fast. Never forgetting a birthday or an anniversary. Never making me doubt his intentions for us. Once we were official, he changed my name—and everyone followed suit, including me. “You’re my Kkul,” he told me, referencing to the word ‘honey’, because -his own words- I was too sweet for him.

***

Between trying to avoid staring at Seokjin for fifty minutes straight and having skipped the class for two weeks, my brain was sluggish and uncooperative. When class ended, I realized I’d absorbed little of the lecture.

I followed Dr. Park to his office, running through various appeals in my head to induce him to give me a chance to catch up. Until that moment, I hadn’t cared that I was failing. Now that the possibility had become a probability, I was terrified.

“All right, Ms.Son” Dr. Park removed a textbook and a stack of disorderly notes from his battered attaché and moved around his office as though I wasn’t standing there. “State your case.”

I cleared my throat. “My case?”

Tiredly, he peered at me over his glasses. “You’ve missed two straight weeks of class—including the midterm, and you missed today. I assume you’re standing here in my office in order to make some sort of case for why you should not fail macroeconomics. I’m waiting with bated breath for that explanation.” He sighed, shelving the textbook. “I always think I’ve heard them all, but I’ve been known to be surprised. So go ahead. I don’t have all day, and I presume you don’t, either.”

I swallowed. “I was in class today. I just sat in a different seat.”

He nodded. “I’ll take your word for that, since you approached me at the end of the lecture. That’s one day of participation back in your favor—amounting to about a quarter of a grade point. You still have six missed class days and a zero on a major exam.”

Oh, God. As if a plug had been pulled, the jumbled excuses and realizations came pouring out. “My boyfriend broke up with me, and he’s in the class, and I can’t stand to see him, let alone sit next to him… Oh my God, I missed the midterm. I’m going to fail. I’ve never failed a class in my life.” As if that speech wasn’t mortifying enough, my eyes watered and spilled over. I bit my lip to keep from sobbing outright, staring at his desk, unable to meet the repulsed expression I imagined him wearing.

I heard his sigh in the same moment a tissue appeared in my line of vision. “It’s your lucky day, Ms. Son.”

I took the tissue and pressed it to my wet cheeks, eyeing him cautiously.

“As it happens, I have a daughter just a bit younger than you. She recently endured a nasty little breakup. My whip-smart, straight-A student turned into an emotional wreck who did nothing but cry, sleep, and cry some more—for about two weeks. And then she came to her senses and decided that no boy was going to ruin her scholastic record. For the sake of my daughter, I’ll give you one chance. One. If you blow it, you will receive the grade you’ve earned at the end of the semester. Do we understand each other?”

I nodded, more tears spilling.

“Good.” My professor shifted uncomfortably and handed me another tissue. “Oh, for Pete’s sake—as I told my daughter, there’s not a boy on the planet worth this amount of angst. I know; I used to be one.” He scribbled on a slip of paper and handed it to me. “Here’s the email address of my class tutor. If you aren’t familiar with his supplemental instruction sessions, I suggest you get familiar with them. You’ll no doubt need some one-on-one tutoring as well. He was an excellent student in my class two years ago, and he’s been tutoring for me since then. I’ll give him the details of the project I expect you to do to replace the midterm grade.”

Another sob escaped me when I thanked him.

I had my shot. All I had to do was get in touch with this tutor person and turn in a project. How hard could it be?

***

The coffee line in the student union was ridiculously long, but it was raining and I wasn’t in the mood to get soaked crossing the street to the indie coffee shop just off-campus to get my fix before my afternoon class. In unrelated reasoning, that was also where Seokjin was most likely to be; we went there almost daily after lunch.

“Ugh,” Elee huffed, she was in a hurry but the Coffee line wasn’t moving fast enough. “I almost forgot—did you hear what happened to Junmin Saturday night? ”My stomach dropped. The night I just wanted to forget wouldn’t leave me alone. I shook my head.

“He got jumped in the parking lot behind the house. A couple of guys wanted his wallet. Probably homeless people, he said—that’s what we get with a campus right in the middle of a big city. They didn’t get anything, the bastards, but damn, Junmin’s face is busted up.” She leaned closer. “He actually looks a little hotter like that, if you know what I mean.”

I felt ill, standing there mute and feigning interest instead of refuting Junmin’s explanation of the events leading to his pummeled face. “Well, fuck. I cant keep waiting, we’ve got a quiz. I’ll see you after work.” She gave me a quick hug and scurried off. I scooted forward with the line, my mind going over Saturday night for the thousandth time. I couldn’t shake how vulnerable I felt, still. I’d never been blind to the fact that guys are stronger. Seokin had scooped me into his arms more times than I could count, one time tossing me over his shoulder and running up a flight of stairs as I clung to his back, upside down and laughing. Two weeks ago, he'd torn out my heart, and I’d never felt so hurt, so empty. But he’d never used his physical strength against me. No, that was all Junmin.

“Next.” I shook off my reverie and looked across the counter, prepared to give my usual order, and there stood the guy from Saturday night. The guy I’d avoided sitting next to this morning in economics. My mouth hung open but nothing came out. And just like this morning, Saturday night came flooding back. My face heated, remembering the position I’d been in, what he must have witnessed before he’d intervened, how foolish he must consider me.But then, he’d said it wasn’t my fault.And he’d called me by my name. The name I no longer used, as of sixteen days ago.

My split-second wish that he wouldn’t recall who I was went ungranted. I returned his penetrating gaze and could see he remembered all of it, clearly. Every mortifying bit. My face burned.

“Are you ready to order?” His question pulled me from my disorientation. His voice was calm, but I felt the exasperation of the restless customers behind me.

“Grande caffé Americano. Please.” My words were so mumbled that I half expected him to ask me to repeat myself.

But he marked the cup, which was when I noted the two or three layers of thin white gauze wrapped around his knuckles. He passed the cup to the barista and rang up the drink as I handed over my card.

“Are you okay today?” he asked, his words so seemingly casual, yet so full of meaning between us. He swiped my card and handed it back with the receipt.

“I’m fine.” The knuckles of his left hand were scuffed but not severely abraded. As I took the card and receipt, his fingers grazed over mine. I snatched my hand away. “Thanks.”

His eyes widened, but he said nothing else.

His eyes flicking to me once more as I stepped away. I don’t know if he looked at me after that. I waited for my coffee at the other end of the bar, and hurried away without adding my usual dribble of milk and three packets of sugar.

Economics was a survey course, and as such the roster was huge—probably two hundred students. I could avoid eye contact with two boys in the midst of that many people for the remaining six weeks of fall semester, couldn’t I?

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