Chapter Text
“There now comes up a deafening crash to these rocks advertising you that even trees do not die without a groan. It rushes to embrace the earth, and mingle its elements with the dust. And now all is still once more and forever, both to eye and ear.”
–Henry David Thoreau
***
“You don’t really like me, do you?”
Your heart sinks when you look at Namjoon’s face when he catches you spying on Jungkook for the fifth time out of the corner of your eye. The handsome upperclassman pins you with a smile, and you feel like the worst human being on the planet.
Jungkook had just rolled up his sleeves to wipe down a few messy tables, effectively undoing any semblance of Chill you pretended to possess. His arms never failed to make you weak.
“I do like you,” you reply to Namjoon, wincing because it sounds like a lie even though it’s the truth. “But it’s just…” You pause, mouth partially open like a dumb fish as you search your mind for the right word. Complicated? Weird? Fucked Up? Nothing seems to fit.
Namjoon takes pity on you. If the “but” didn’t give you away, the “just” did. In his limited experience, girls only used the word “just” when they wanted to soften the blow of a rejection.
“I know you do like me, but you don’t like me.” There is a big difference.
But this is only a first date, and Namjoon is not too pressed to see you stewing over unresolved angst concerning your pretty-boy ex-boyfriend. Jungkook is objectively terrific, three for three when it came to looks, smarts, and personality. He’s heard bits and pieces from the grapevine, and he knows the breakup is still recent. Given all those things, it’s more than understandable why you would choose to have frozen yogurt in the middle of a freezing-cold winter if it meant rubbing it in your ex’s face that you’ve moved on to bigger and better things. Namjoon is somewhat flattered to be chosen as the bait for Jungkook’s benefit, but realistically he knows you probably only picked him for his height.
“You’re cold,” he comments, taking your hand and feeling your much smaller palm act as an ice cube. “Froyo wasn’t the best idea. A brave choice, but not exactly seasonal.”
“I’m really sorry,” you sigh, giving up and putting up the banner of mea culpa (mea maxima culpa). “Please don’t hate me.”
Namjoon lets go of your hand to reach out to your face, pushing your chin up to look at him. “Don’t look down,” he tells you. “You did nothing wrong.”
If you were a normal girl with a normal heart, you would have probably fell for Namjoon right then and there. Because Namjoon is looking at you like you always wished Jungkook would; he looks wise and hot and every bit like an understanding boyfriend who loves the fuck out of you.
“You are a glutton for pain,” Namjoon continues with a meaningful glance at the counter where Jungkook’s back was turned, “but keep your head up.”
This date ranks as a solid four in the Top Ten Most Mortifying Mating Rituals you’ve ever had the displeasure of experiencing. Namjoon being cool about your attempt at making Jungkook jealous only exacerbates the embarrassment you feel for being petty.
“Thanks.” Your throat feels woolly from you trying not to cry in frustration. That, or you’re getting sick.
The froyo-for-two date special that was shared with Namjoon is thrown away after it melts into a chaotic sea of chocolate and vanilla swirls. Your stomach churns as Namjoon continues his assault on your conscious by shoveling burning coals of kindness on your dumbass head. He takes your hand as the two of you exit, even slowing his steps as you pass Jungkook on the way out.
“Please come again,” Jungkook speaks up in rote, by-the-book cheerfulness. His eyes and mouth are carved out into an easy smile as he looks at you directly, pointedly. You never know exactly what Jungkook is thinking, but right now he seems to be communicating to you through psychic waves that he doesn’t give a shit who you’re with.
“Maybe in the spring semester,” Namjoon chuckles. (“Maybe Never!” you want to scream.)
And because you have no self-control or sense of self-preservation, you let slip a soft, “Bye Jungkook” before you can help it. Namjoon tugs on your hand, and you miss the chance to hear Jungkook’s response when the two of you are out the door in a flash.
“Bye Jungkook?” Namjoon repeats once you leave the store, his hand is still holding yours. “Bye Jungkook?!” The winter air is gust of Major Suck, and it gives you a good reason to tug your coat up to cover the bottom half of your face. “You have it bad.”
If Namjoon pitied you in the store, he pities you more now, your pathetic form looking slumped, small, and frozen as you trudge alongside him through the slush. He heads to the nearest coffee shop with you in tow. You have to trot in rapid steps to keep up, but the cold weather and self-pity keep you from questioning where he’s taking you. The christmasy scent of hazelnuts and cinnamon blended over roasted coffee overwhelms you when he opens the door, and as soon as you step in, the warmth makes your nose run.
Namjoon shoots down the half-hearted offer of paying for your own coffee as you wait on the long line, the two of you defrosting gently.
“You’re sad, and I can do this much,” he shushes you. “What d’you want?”
“Something bitter and hot,” you answer. You don’t even drink coffee.
He gets you something frothy, creamy, and sweet with just enough coffee added in for the base note. The cup is warm enough to hold comfortably in your hands as a miniature, portable heater.
“Thank you.” It’s a little bit perfect of him to do this, and your heart speeds up at the feeling of his hand on your middle back guiding you through the crowded store towards one of the empty tables near the windows.
There is a moment, a brief one, where things go absolutely quiet in your head as you concentrate with all your might on the man standing behind you to memorize the shape of his chin and jaw, his neckline and shoulders. You have to look up at him since he towers several heads over you. Namjoon stares straight ahead, alert to his surroundings as he steers you effortlessly through the crowd. The unconscious and automatic manner in which he takes charge, even in the smallest of things, sets your heart towards desire, and Namjoon inexplicably looks like he’s on the cusp of resplendency.
In the grand scheme of things, this is an unimportant moment of a less-than-spectacular day that you’ll probably forget in a few hours. And the memory of this feeling, this unwarranted blooming of eros will be lost in the gray matter of emotions occupied with Jungkook.
“Watch your step,” Namjoon says, and the moment is gone. Your heart settles down as soon as you look away to pay attention to where you’re going, and when you take another glance back at Namjoon, he looks normal again.
You feel fortunate to have nabbed the cozy table for two as the store becomes progressively crowded. Namjoon stares at you over his coffee cup, the look in his eyes blatant but not at all predatory. He’s only thinking, and you happen to be in his line of sight. There is of course the residual discomfort of knowing that this was supposed to be a date, but it’s long since fizzled out. You sip your drink slowly because the guilt of using him and being found out hasn’t left your brain just yet.
The humiliation bothers you less than the knowledge that you are the type of girl to use others to soothe your own wounded pride. You’ve become exactly the type of girl you used to make fun of when you were younger, and it makes you sick to acknowledge there’s no trickery involved - no ghost possession or spiritual hijacking of your body. No, this is one hundred and ten percent you.
Before you can think of a proper way to apologize to Namjoon, he cuts through your misery with a single question.
“You asked me out because I’m taller than him, right?” he asks with a knowing smirk. He single-handedly diffuses the tension with the grace of someone who’s not looking to crucify you.
You purse your lips and play with the cardboard paper lining the cup. “It’s not the only reason,” you mumble. You look down again, but this time you catch on to the motion and correct for it. Namjoon is almost proud.
“I want to know all of them,” he says. If you are intent on being hung up over Jungkook, he is going to milk this not-quite date for all its worth.
Namjoon has a way of surprising you pleasantly, disarming you with easy conversation that doesn’t carry hidden nails to trap you in a game of gotcha.
“You’re a good person,” you say after a pause, deciding that “good person” aptly describes the essence of the man sitting in front of you in the most concise, factual manner.
There is so much you can say about Namjoon, but he already knows the chronology of his achievements. It’s his life after all. And Namjoon isn’t exactly unpopular on campus. It’s a relatively small school, and word spreads quickly when one of their own writes the occasional article for a globally syndicated paper. He would surely go places most people only daydream about, but more than his many earthly accolades, he’s good because of all the things found outside of his CV.
“You’re so cool… with everything you know and everything you’ve already done… but you were willing to help me get through that hell class.” The upperclassman was penciled in your book as Mister Perfect, the guy on track to ruling the world with eco-friendly conglomerates backing him while paying his employees a decent wage. He had helped you adjust to the world of upper division classes while you were the lone freshman who gamed her way to upper division status through some creative credit claiming.
It feels good to get his ego stroked, and Namjoon wants to hear more.
“And?”
“And you’re kind of ideal,” you answer without too much hesitation. “Tall, hot, super smart - but not like a total jackass about it… Tall…”
“But I’m not him.” He means this in the kindest way possible, but your face falls anyway. “It’s okay. We don’t choose who we like.”
And if there was such a thing as cosmic alignment or destiny or a higher power, it was laughing at you because what were the chances of gazing out the window at this exact time and seeing Jungkook walking past the coffee shop looking every bit as carefree as you wanted to be? Your breath catches as you spot the unmistakable red parka you bought for him on his birthday. The warm puffs of air leaving his mouth are visible even through the mildly-smudged glass window. Jungkook has probably finished with his shift for the day, and your gaze follows him until he rounds the corner.
“I’m so sorry,” you speak into hands that cover your face when you catch Namjoon’s amused and pitying smile. “I’m a mess.”
“Nah,” he responds, shaking his head. “You’re just not over him.”
Namjoon parts ways with you on friendly terms. His retreating form looks architecturally handsome as he makes his way back to his dorm room on the other side of campus after walking you to yours.
It feels empty to be in your room alone during finals week. Your roommate is long gone back to her home in the sunnier parts of the world while you are stuck on campus for another week because you’re the chump who got stuck with a final on the last day in the last time slot. And it’s the exam you have to take with Jungkook too.
Maybe if the two of you were less angry with each other and less in the “bitter exes” mood, you could even study together, calling a brief truce on feelings and focusing on the much-needed A. Hyper-competitive does not begin to describe your desire to do well; besting others is a given, and besting yourself is the real challenge. (The only person you’ve ever lost to was Jungkook, but he is in a different league of unbeatable - an exceptional exception.)
Your phone sits in front of you at your desk, taunting you to drop your pride and text Jungkook because he’s good at force feeding information into your brain. It’s also because you miss him. With a scowl and an unladylike grunt, you shut off your phone with vicious swipe at the screen and study until your eyes hurt.
***
There is a fresh pile of snow you have to wade through on your way to the designated exam building the following evening. Snow is a lifestyle at this university, and there are quite a few students who have transferred out because of the unforgiving climate. You long for the sunny beaches and scorching sun of Home, but you grit your teeth and bear it. Mama didn’t raise a quitter, and this university was going to carry you to medical school.
The hallway leading up to the exam room squeaks from your boots and wet tracks left by other students who have already arrived. You see the huddled masses of students poring over review sheets just outside the entrance to the exam room. There’s still thirty minutes left to cram.
Jungkook stands out from the crowd in his usual fashion, the red parka a dead giveaway as he leans against the wall. His eyes are closed with headphones fit snugly over his ears as an indication to the world that he was in Do Not Disturb mode. He’s the only one without his notes out.
Maybe you were projecting, but he looks thinner than usual now that you’re looking at him without the distraction of a date. Jungkook’s chin looks more prominent than ever, and his jaw is set into a careless frown that doesn’t make him look any less handsome. You’re staring, and it’s almost sad how you lap at this opportunity to gaze at him without fearing that you’d be found out.
But Jungkook opens his eyes shortly thereafter, as if he has his sensors for you turned on, and meets your gaze with one of his own that’s just as intense, just as searching. “Caught” doesn’t even begin to describe how you feel. You have the worst poker face, and Jungkook is excellent at reading you.
You open your mouth to say hi, but he’s done looking at you right as you become ready to speak. Jungkook shuts his eyes once more and makes a show of fiddling with his phone, presumably to turn up the volume and tune you out decisively. If you were a braver girl with a bigger heart, you might have walked up to him anyway, unplugged his headphones, and greeted him with the steely determination of a girl set out to take what she wants without reserve.
Instead, you wait outside the door like the other students, eyes glazing over notes you compiled the night before, your mind already blank and frozen. The door beeps ten minutes before the start of the exam, unlocking itself on a timer, and everyone files into the room in neat, tired lines.
You glance back at Jungkook who’s taken off his headphones finally. He lets people cut in front of him like a good sport. Without stopping to consider how desperate you looked, you hang back on purpose to time your entry into the exam room to match him.
“Good luck,” you tell him, hopeful.
“You too.” It’s an automatic platitude, something said on reflex to any stranger.
Jungkook steps around you to take a seat in the far left corner of the room towards the back where everyone piles their wet effects. It’s the uncomfortable, damp section - the place no one wants to sit, and Jungkook happily takes his chair without a second glance in your direction.
This is a bad time to discover that you’re about to cry. Try as you might, there’s no stopping the welling of tears in the corners of your eyes or the burn that singes through your nose as you hold back the muffled sobs that want out from your trachea. The proctor gives you a pitying look when he puts down Version 2 of the exam face down in front of you, and you realize he must think you’re breaking down from finals stress.
You have no energy left to pretend like you’re doing okay, and you take your final exam while wiping away your tears and blowing your nose religiously. You use up a whole packet of tissues much to the disgust of your neighbors.
Jungkook is finished with his exam first to no one’s surprise, and when he leaves the room, just as quiet and unassuming as the way he entered, it finally hits you that he’s not going to wait in the hallway until you’re done with your exam. He will not play dutiful boyfriend bearing a vending machine snack and a smile to bring up your mood after a crappy test. The two of you are indeed strangers now, maybe less than that.
The tears act up again, but you’re proud to say none of them landed on your exam to potentially fuck with your score.
“Rough exam?” the proctor asks when you hand in your sheet and show him your ID card to prove you’re not a stand-in.
“Yeah,” you reply, finding it easier to admit defeat to an exam than to your stupid emotions for a boy that doesn’t even care about you. “I tried my best though.”
The proctor looks vaguely sympathetic. “That’s all you can really do.”
You sign out and make your way back to your dorm room where a mountain of clothes awaits you for packing.
“Let’s go home, girlie,” you tell yourself as you push open the front door of the building, your eyes closed and bracing for the cold.
***
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***
It Actually Started Like This:
Jungkook held your hand for the first time, nearly shaking from the newness. He worried you’d be put off by his clammy, cold hands, but you paid no mind to that and threaded your fingers with his own.
You were composed, much more than he was at least. The composure probably came from the smugness that followed after dismantling Jungkook’s theory about his inability to date Short Girls. But you had set him straight and proceeded to rip the metaphorical blindfold away from his eyes so that he could see the light. (You were the light.)
As he tried his best to calm his racing heart, you leaned in - a little bit teasing, a little bit saucy, completely his type - and while you weren’t even at his chin, you overwhelmed him with a personality that tore at his own.
“Wh- Th- I-” Jungkook was unable to speak. He cleared his throat, the sound adorable and borderline adolescent in its crack and pitch.
“There are so many benefits to dating a short girl, Jungkook,” you cooed, batting your eyelashes and looking down there. It was innuendo at its worst, and he loved it, craved it. He took in the blatant and gauche words like a sponge soaking up dirty dishwater before being wrung out. You were a bad influence on him, and he had picked up more than his fair share of bad habits because of you.
“Oh.” Jungkook’s mind was empty of intelligible thought outside of unbidden, suggestive images.
His mouth opened to say something else, something to impress upon you that he could give just as good as he got, but instead of cool words and a zinger, all that escaped his mouth was a hiccup.
Jungkook blushed.