#i had to sit and make my handwriting legible smh

[bandagedloser]

Can you tell this was an English project I made overly complicated and had to rush at the end

[ilyseok]

More than just a diary

Fandom: BTS Pairings: Rap Monster | Kim NamjoonxReader Genres: Fluff, college AU Rating: PG Words: 3877

Summary: Springtime at the university was your favorite time of the year, and the giant library in the middle of campus your favorite hangout. Thanks to the busy students studying during midterms, you were forced to vacate your usual spot and end up in the company of a mysterious purple haired boy - a writer, much like yourself.

AO3 Link

A/N: It took me long enough to write, but finally I’ve finished it. I’ll work on the Jimin x Reader fic after this. And now for your healthy dose of fluff before I start posting the heavy angst

Springtime.

Just thinking of the word brought a smile to your face. Though the beginning of spring was always cold and snowy, it was time for the transition into clear skies, sunny days, and the blossoming of the trees that lined the sidewalks all through the campus. Spring had finally made its way to the university, and you couldn’t be any happier. You loved taking long walks from one end of the campus to the other, just to walk through the forest of blooming pink magnolia trees – especially at night to see the stars light up the sky behind the bell tower of the university’s administration building. Spring was finally in full bloom, and that meant one thing above all: midterms.

An unfortunate part of being a university student – the most beautiful days were still filled with the dread of exams and research papers. Luckily for you, all of the classes you signed up for that semester were general education requirements and typically made for easy A’s. Your midterms were looking pretty lax compared to the rest of your fellow third year students, but still you visited the library on a regular basis as always.

As you rounded the corner toward your usual spot, winded from climbing six flights of stairs, you noticed a group of two or three students gathered at the table, probably discussing a plan for a forced group project due soon. You decided to just look around the floor a bit for another place to sit, but every table on the floor was either full of chatty college kids or a person with their belongings sprawled over the entire table. You debated going back to the dorm to work on your notecards, but just before you were about to give up, you found an open spot in the corner behind the historical document collection. There was only one person sitting there - a twenty something year old boy sitting at the table, a notebook in front of him and a copy of Fahrenheit 451 in his hand.

You set your heavy backpack down on the table with a thunk and peered at the boy from the corner of your eyes. He seemed to not notice your presence as he never once looked up from the book he was so engaged in. His white, thick-rimmed glasses nicely framed the shape of his face and complimented the color of his pastel purple hair, which he wore combed to the side. When you took a closer look at him, you noticed the pair of earbuds mostly concealed by the black zip-up hoodie he wore. The reason he hadn’t noticed you was probably because his earbuds were so loud – typical of most students who flocked to the library to study for midterms.

You waved a hand in front of him to catch his attention, and he pulled one earbud out and looked up at you.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” You motioned toward the chair on the opposite end of the table as you asked him.

“Yeah, go for it.” He automatically put the earbud back in and resumed being oblivious to the world outside of the book and the music. You could faintly hear some of the beats and words of the music, but mostly it was only the clicking of the hi-hat roll in the backtrack that you could hear. Nothing you recognized stood out.

Three hours and five thousand note cards later, you decided to look over to the tall boy with the music out of curiosity. He still sat at the other end of the table, apparently finished with his book since he was writing in a black leather journal. It was similar to the journal of your own that you kept on hand at all times. Seeing his journal reminded you of an idea you had earlier in the day, while you were in the middle of a chemistry lecture. Before you could forget the feeling of the idea itself, you dug your journal out of your bag and opened it to the next fresh page to start an outline for a new story, immediately forgetting about the English notecards you’d spent all afternoon studying. Thankfully the caffeine in your hot drink assisted your ability to remember the idea, which was surprising since the urge to write it came to you more than fifteen hours ago.

Pausing to give your poor hand a break, you looked at the time 11:37PM. The library was open late for midterms for the next two weeks, but still you jumped out of your seat and grabbed everything in your hands and bolted for the elevator. Unfortunately for the both of you, you and the mysterious boy were thinking along the same lines of wanting to leave. You collided when you rounded the corner of one of the bookshelves and dropped everything, as did he.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologized, quickly gathering your journal and messy stack of notecards and stuffing them in the front pocket of your bag. “I just remembered the last bus is about to arrive.���

“No worries. I understand,” he said with a sweet smile and a gentle look in his eyes. You found yourself unable to look away from him as you handed his book back to him. Your eyes traveled from to his purple hair and blue eyes, to the dimples framing his charming smile, and then to the sharp edge of his jawline. Suddenly realizing how long you’d been awkwardly staring at him, you smiled awkwardly and ran off to the bus stop to catch the last campus carousel to your dormitory.

Finally, after a long day of studying, the rest of the night was yours to spend however you wanted. Of course this meant opening your favorite writing network chat on kakaotalk to tell your friends about your new fic idea.

Y/N: I hate how every idea comes to me at the most inconvenient times! >:[

Cap’n Kookie: Me, every day

Y/N: Luckily I remembered it when I was going through my English flashcards at the library earlier

Cap’n Kookie: So what you’re saying is you went to the library to study and wrote a novel instead?

Y/N: ...maybe.

Cap’n Kookie: atta girl

Able Seawoman Yoonji: kids these days smh... I bet you’re one of those shippers my mother warned me about, too -_-

Y/N: Give me a sec and I’ll type it up for you

You pulled the journal out of the front pocket of your purple and black messenger bag and opened it to the last used page, excited to properly outline the idea for your friends. Before you went any further you noticed the strange handwriting scribbled on the page. So as to make sure you’re not going insane, you checked the interior of the cover of the spiral bound book for the customized galaxy print you’d decorated the inside with. You’d spent at least six hours working on that interior, and you specifically remember that it was not designed to be ripped out, so there was only one possibility remaining: this was not your journal.

Panic spread through your mind like wildfire. Did you accidentally switch with the mysterious boy from the library? What if he read it?

Y/N: Mayday MAYDAY

Cap’n Kookie: Requesting the status of the situation, first mate Y/N?

Y/N: BAD

Able Seawoman Yoonji: ???

Y/N: VERY BAD

You described the boy you’d met at the library to the chat and waited for Yoonji and Kookie’s advice.

Cap’n Kookie: What exactly is in the journal?

Y/N: I can’t just look at someone’s journal! I would hate it if he did that to mine.

Cap’n Kookie: Fair.

Able Seawoman Yoonji: This is your best chance to find out if the cutie from the library is a psychopath or not

Y/N: I do like people who aren’t psychopaths…

You opened the journal to another page in spite of your inner voice telling you not to invade another’s privacy. The writing on the page was small and messy, but still legible. You skimmed through the page.

I know every life’s a movie We got different starts and stories We got different nights and mornings Our scenarios ain’t just boring

Either this man was a poet or a lyricist. You weren’t sure which, so you skimmed the page some more.

Hey you, who’s looking over the Han River If we bump into each other while passing, would it be fate? Or maybe we bumped into each other in our past life Maybe we bumped into each other countless times

Cap’n Kookie: So? What does it say

Y/N: It looks like lyrics? Maybe a poem? idk

Able Seawoman Yoonji: Like angsty teenage boy lyrics or what?

Y/N: No. They’re sad but also really deep.

Able Seawoman Yoonji: show us, Y/N-sshi ~

Y/N: No way! It’s already bad enough that I invaded his privacy. I can’t show you guys too.

Able Seawoman Yoonji: He doesn’t have to know anyone saw anything ;)

Cap'n Kookie: You’re a bad influence and I hope you know that

After reading the short passage of the journal, you resolved to get it back to the boy as quickly as possible. Unfortunately that would have to wait until the next day, so hopefully you would be able to find him in the library again. You felt a swirl of both relief and dread at the thought of getting your journal back due to the possibility that he might have read it by the next time you saw him. But if you were lucky enough to see him, there was always the positive of getting to see that gorgeous face again, even if he read your journal and judged you harshly.

\\

The next day you went to the library around the same time to catch him, and sure enough he was there reading a new book today. After seeing his purple hair and the dimples on his cheek when he laughed at parts of the book he read, you abandoned your original plan of working on your botany paper - plants are overrated anyway. Instead, you took out your books and spread them out on the table and played awkwardly with your phone for a moment while you tried to work up the nerve to break the ice. Just as you were contemplating it, he said something first.

“Hey, you’re the girl from yesterday, aren’t you?” he said. You quickly forgot about the game of candy crush on the screen and looked up at him.

“Y-yeah, I decided I kind of like this area of the library more,” you said. As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized that it sounded like you were planning on permanently invading what seemed like his territory in the library. You stuttered as you tried to explain yourself. “I- I mean I like this section. I didn’t mean to take up your table or anything. It’s just that the other tables are-” He cut you off.

“No, it’s fine. You’re not bothering me at all,” he said. Your heart skipped a beat when he smiled at you. “I’m glad you’re here actually. I think I have something that belongs to you.” He dug through his bag again to pull out a black, spiral-bound leather journal – your journal.

“Oh thank god,” you said, grateful that he was the first to approach the topic. “I wanted to give this to you as well.” You shuffled around the front pocket of your messenger bag for his and exchanged journals.

“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry about the confusion.”

“A-ah, it’s no problem,” you said and looked down and away from him, not wanting to speak the worries on your mind.

“I didn’t read anything, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, as if he knew exactly what you wanted to ask. “I saw a few sentences at the end, but as soon as I saw the handwriting, I stopped immediately.” You sighed in relief, feeling like you’d been holding your breath for the past twenty-four hours.

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” You looked into his eyes and smiled shyly. “Likewise, I didn’t read yours either.” A pang of guilt pierced your chest when you lied to him, but soon the weight was lifted off of your shoulders when he brushed it off.

“I wouldn’t mind even if you did. That’s very courteous of you, though,” he laughed. “That journal must be pretty important to you, given your reaction when I gave it back to you.”

You hugged your journal close and nodded. “It's more than just a diary. I keep my entire life in this journal.”

“You mean like a horcrux?” He laughed again. Oh god, his smile. You internally begged him to stop looking at you with that gorgeous smile, yet secretly enjoyed it at the same time. A small smile crossed your lips in return.

“Not quite that literally,” you said. “I keep track of my assignments in the calendar in the back and I have a section for contacts. I have a few other sections in there too. One of them I use for venting about my botany professor.”

“And the others?”

“Ah…” you hesitated for a moment, even though he silently encouraged you to talk about it. His aura was very relaxed and non-judgmental so you wanted to talk about your writing - after all, it would be nice to have friends nearby that you can talk story ideas with. But your past reactions from your friends in high school kept you from saying much.

“I won't pressure you to talk about it if you're not comfortable. But unless it's about your plan to take over world with an army of bloodthirsty penguins, I won't judge you.”

“That's oddly specific,” you said.

“Look, a guy has to think about his future. Wouldn't want the competition getting ahead, you know?” He spoke with an easiness that made you feel like you'd known him for years. It was relieving to not have to struggle with the tortuous small talk that normally occurred between two strangers.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” you said with a laugh. “It's nothing quite that ridiculous. I like to write, so I keep that with me for outlining and writing down my story ideas.”

“That's actually really cool,” he said. The softness in his eyes reflected how genuine he was. “I have a lot of respect for that kind of thing. I like to write, myself. Well, not stories, but lyrics.” He patted the cover of his identical journal.

So they were lyrics.

“You must have quite a lot to study for,” he said, gesturing at the stack of notecards poking out of your bag. You winced at your then-abandoned English notecards and took a deep breath, trying to fend off any negative energy about your upcoming English midterms.

“Yeah, English midterms. It’s an oral exam, actually.” He nodded intently, encouraging you to go on, but you didn’t press the topic any further.

“I know most people don’t like to take help from someone they’ve barely spoken to for more than 15 minutes, but if you seriously need the help on it, I’d be more than willing to help you with your English. I’m actually pretty fluent,” he said. It’s not that you were shocked that he was fluent in English – actually, half of the lines you’d read the night before weren’t in Korean so you knew that there had to be some truth to him knowing more languages than it might first appear. You grabbed your stack of notecards and began to leaf through them, picking out the ones with orange and red post it note tabs on them and handing them to him.

“These are the ones I’m having trouble with the most,” you said sheepishly. He took them from you and you noticed that his large hands were surprisingly soft and extremely warm. He shuffled through the index cards for a few moments, taking note of any commonalities between them in order to pinpoint your problems.

“Are you having trouble remembering how to say them?”

“Yes. Why are there at least 30 different words with ‘ough’ in them, but only 35% of them sound similar?”

He read through some of the notecards aloud, “Tough, thought, though… You know, I actually prefer to draw on my flashcards to help me remember. Do you mind if I tried it?” You shook your head because he was being so kind just by helping you, and you certainly wouldn’t mind a doodle or two on your notecards to keep you interested in them. He began to draw on the side of one of your notecards and then handed it back to you a few moments after he was done with it. Off to the side of the word “tough” was a small line drawing of a puppy with a wild mane of hair on the top of his head between his two fluffy ears. He had a hairstyle much like the mysterious boy in front of you, and it made you giggle.

“Puppy?”

“Does he not look tough enough for you?” he asked, half jokingly.

“Well yes, but why a puppy?” you asked, your thumb absentmindedly tracing over the small drawing on the card.

“So the puppy says ‘ruff’, right? I like to think of the puppy because tough rhymes with ruff,” he said as he went through some of your other notecards, picking out the ones with the easiest associations and working his way up.

Apparently you needed more help than you realized because before you knew it, the two of you had been working on your note cards for more than three hours. The muscles in your lower back and neck ached, so you stood up and stretched for a bit, and that’s when you suddenly felt the familiar weight of sleep tug at your eyelids. You should probably get back to your room soon, but you were having a hard time resisting the pull of gravity into your chair. You were immediately pulled out of your state of drowsiness when the smooth voice of the library night staff rang out over the PA system.

“Attention BTSU students and faculty, the library will be closing in fifteen minutes. We will reopen at 7:00 AM tomorrow, with extended hours continuing through next Friday.”

You smacked your the palm of your hand to your forehead and groaned. You looked at the time on your phone, and sure enough, it read 11:45 PM.

“Something wrong?”

“The buses stopped running six minutes ago,” you whined.

“You live in the dorms? I can walk you back if you’re worried about being alone,” he offered.

You weren’t afraid to walk alone, but you were tired and not in the mood to walk all the way from the library back to your room with 50 pounds of books. If anything, having company on the way back would make the walk go quicker. You had zero reason to turn him down, to be honest.

“Sure. I’d like that,” you said softly, your cheeks turning a light shade of pink and butterflies welling up inside your chest. As you gathered up your things, you opened up the journal in your hands to make sure you had your own before tucking it safely in its place in the front pocket of your bag.

The moment you stepped out the side door of the library, the chill of the night made you shiver. A sign of early spring - the weather unpredictably wavered between warm and sunny with clear skies, and dreary and overcast with a chance of blizzards.

“Do you want my jacket? We’ve got a long walk back,” he said.

“No, I don’t want you to be cold because of me,” you said.

“I’ll be fine, but if you don’t want to that’s okay,” he said. Truth be told, you would have been more than happy to have the jet-black bomber jacket he wore around your shoulders. The cold radiated through your bones, but you suppressed your shivers the best you could. Your reaction was purely habitual, but you didn’t want to take it from him immediately after saying no.

The two of you walked down the main pathways in the center of campus to your dormitory building, a good distance apart, but still close enough for a small sense of intimacy. You looked up at the night sky between the trees every once in awhile to admire the stars. A harsh wind whirled past you so you could no longer suppress the chattering of your teeth and the shivering of your shoulders. As you were mentally kicking yourself for not thinking any better by wearing only a short sleeved shirt that evening, a heavy warmth enveloped you. You gladly welcomed the heat of the smooth satin lining and pulled it closer around you, slipping your arms through the long sleeves of the bomber jacket.

“You could have said something if you were cold,” he laughed.

“Thanks,” you said sheepishly. The tall outline of your 18-story residence hall suddenly came into view, with the lights from each room twinkling in the distance, and he paused.

“Ah, if you don’t mind I actually have to part ways with you here,” he said, gesturing toward the sidewalk where the path split into two: one path toward the dormitory and another toward the street where most off campus students lived.

“Oh, that’s fine,” you said. Suddenly you remembered you had his jacket, but as soon as you moved to give it back to him, he stopped you.

“You’re fine. You can just give it back to me at the library,” he said with a smile that melted your heart.

“A-ah, thanks.”

“See you next time, Y/N,” he said as he walked the other way and waved at you.

“Y-yeah, next time,” you stuttered, your heart jumping in glee.

When you got back to your room that night, you flopped onto your bed and whipped out your phone, replaying his words in your head as you recounted the day’s events to Yoonji and Kookie. You thought about his last words several times before a thought occurred to you.

How did he know your name?

You quickly pulled out your journal and searched through the contacts section toward the back, unable to remember whether or not you’d bothered to put in your own contact information “just in case.” As it turns out, your suspicions were correct. It was then that you noticed a small red sticky note poking out from the edge of another page in the very same section. When you opened it up to inspect the new addition to your journal, you noticed a new entry at the back of the section written in handwriting similar to that of the purple haired boy.

Name: Kim Namjoon

Phone: XXX-XXX-XXXX

Email: rapmon.knj@bighit.com

Hit me up anytime if you wanna talk about your stories ☺ -Namjoon

Next to his name, he left a small cartoon drawing of himself, complete with wild hair colored in with a purple sharpie.

Next time, huh?