Work Text:
The birds warbled out a happy song as Jimin trudged his way out of his dorm, hearing the tell-tale ‘click ’ of the lock as the heavy door slammed shut behind him. Everything felt like too much for his senses this morning, his ears and eyes sensitive and nerves frayed from the lack of sleep. He had been up all night studying, patience worn thin from the effort. He was long overdue for a break.
Glaring up at the sky for being too bright, he pondered over what the next few hours would hold for him. He hadn’t been worried about the rest of his midterms, feeling like he was prepared and certain they had gone well.
This one, however. This one kept him up at night long before the endless hours of poring over his notes and willing his brain to understand what was on the paper. This exam was his most feared.
Chemistry.
He shuddered just thinking about it. He couldn’t decide if he was thankful it fell last so he could focus all of his studying attention on it after the others were over, or if he would rather have had it earlier in the week so he wasn’t so bone-tired when he was forced to take it.
At any rate, it would all be over in a mere three hours. He just had to make it through the next three hours and sweet freedom was his for a week and a half.
He had no big plans for the spring holiday besides meeting Yoongi after exams were over to celebrate and cherishing his alone time in the dorm. Maybe seeing what new and unusual abomination the kitchen staff decided to cook up. He wondered if this would finally be the occasion that they topped the current reigning champion—a BBQ meatball-stuffed corn and jalapeño cornbread muffin, a “food” that looked as horrific as it sounded. The kitchen likely wouldn’t be as well-stocked over the holiday and they might have to get creative, but Jimin would look forward to it. He’d have to tell Taehyung if he missed something good. (And by good, he most definitely meant god-awful). His jetsetter roommate was flying off to see his family for some extended vacation in the Maldives over the break. He’d left this morning, kissing Jimin on the cheek with an exuberant ‘Ciao, darling’ that was just so quintessentially Taehyung that Jimin couldn’t help but be endeared. He would miss the boy.
Tired eyes blinked blearily as the heels of his palms came up to rub at them. The bags underneath them this morning were prominent. He’d been unable to do anything about them, even with concealer, eventually getting frustrated and heaving his backpack onto his shoulder to head out the door.
Jimin couldn’t wait to crash after he dumped all the rest of his brain matter out onto this test.
Matter. Any substance that has mass and volume.
A drawn-out sigh left his lips. His brain had been all chemistry all the time since finishing his last midterm two days ago. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t feel like he had much brain left. He prayed he’d be able to pull out a passing grade at minimum.
He didn’t dare hope for more.
The air tickled his nose and he sneezed. Fucking pollen. Why did the campus maintenance crew see it necessary to mow the already perfect grass this early in the morning, kicking up waves of yellow dust that made his eyes itch and his throat scratchy. He was convinced that half of his tuition went to maintaining this stupid lawn.
Yeah, the sleep deprivation was definitely making him irritable. He could recognize that he was bordering on irrationally angry over lawn care.
He made his way down the criss-crossing sidewalks, careful not to step on the school seal outside the administration building when he passed. Campus rumor had it that stepping on the seal would delay your graduation. It was supposedly always crowded after the graduation ceremony, new grads waiting their turn to stomp around on the polished stone as their friends and families took photos to commemorate the momentous occasion. Jimin wasn’t superstitious, but like hell he was going to chance it. Plus, it just seemed like a bad omen to do so on an exam day that could make or break his grade in the class.
The narrow walkway guided him past a few more buildings, and Jimin only just avoided being plowed into by a frat boy on a skateboard. He huffed his displeasure toward the boy’s back. Idiot.
The steps leading up to the chemistry building were old, with chunks of concrete missing in places that made the ascent more dangerous than should probably have been allowed. But, you know… the grass needed tending.
Gripping the worn brass handle of the door, he pulled it open and stumbled into the entryway, the distinctly chemical smell instantly invading his nostrils. This place reeked of his failures. It was almost as if the ghost of all his blundered lab assignments stayed around to haunt him.
He rolled his eyes at himself. This wasn’t some epic tale of him versus chemistry. He was just a freshman taking gen chem. No need for the melodrama, Jimin.
The patchy eighties-patterned linoleum had Jimin’s eyes crossing as he walked through the halls. His shoes stuck to the floor, each step making a tacky sound as he pulled his foot up, probably a result of the buildup of many chemical spills over the years. Disgusting .
Rounding the corner, his eyes scanned along the placards beside the doors until he reached class 613. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before he entered the classroom and shuffled to his desk. The ancient clock ticked idly over the blackboard, second hand seeming to slow as it fought gravity on the way up and hasten as it made its way back down—ten minutes before the start of the test.
His professor, Mr. Cheon, stood at the front of the room, shuffling and organizing the exam papers menacingly. The man’s beady eyes glanced around the room until they fixed themselves on Jimin, and he flashed a smug, greasy smile in Jimin’s direction.
Jimin had been feeling for some time now that his professor didn’t like him, but he was sure in that moment that he wanted him to fail.
However, Jimin was determined to prove him wrong. He may not pass with flying colors. But he would make sure he wouldn’t fail. If only out of pure spite.
Other students slowly began to shuffle in, looking as worn down as Jimin felt. His friend and lab partner Yoongi ambled in with all the urgency of a snail, eyes barely open enough to see. They made unlikely friends—Yoongi being withdrawn and generally irritable and Jimin being “too damn loud” and basically a walking ball of sunshine.
Jimin may also have enjoyed purposefully antagonizing Yoongi. Sometimes. He tried not to, but it was just so easy to rile the other boy up, and his reactions always had Jimin clutching his sides in laughter.
Yoongi meandered through the desks, coming to a stop on Jimin’s left. He stifled a giggle at the cowlick that graced the back of Yoongi’s head. Clearly, he had been napping.
“The second this is over I’m passing the fuck out for a week. Don’t bother looking for me,” came the gravelly, sleep-roughened voice.
This time, Jimin did laugh.
“Sleep well?” Jimin asked, syrupy-sweet.
“You know what Jimin, fuck you, I—”
Yoongi was interrupted by a throat clearing several seats ahead. The boys looked forward to find the teacher’s pet looking scandalized, glaring in their direction. They put on the air of shame, sharing an eye roll when she turned back around to flirt with the professor, tone unctuous and grating.
Jimin and Yoongi sat in silence after that, each lost in their own thoughts. The professor had started to hand out the exam booklets, and his anxiety was ratcheting up by the second. When he reached Jimin’s desk, he paused for a moment to whisper a mocking “good luck” in Jimin’s direction. Asshole . He glared daggers at the man’s back as he walked back to the front of the room to address the students.
“You’ll have three hours for the exam. It will probably take you close to that long, so get comfortable.” He punctuated the sentence with a gleefully malicious smirk. “No talking, no cheating, I reserve the right to dismiss you from the exam for any reason. If you are dismissed, your exam will be graded as-is. No exceptions. You should not have questions during the exam, but raise your hand if you need me. I’ll be grading these over the next few days and will post the results as soon as they’re graded. Every email I get asking when the grades will be posted will delay the posting by one day. Does everyone have pencils and a calculator?”
Silence.
“Does everyone have an exam booklet?”
Silence.
“Any questions before we begin?”
Silence.
“Alright, your three hours start now.”
The professor made his way around the desk to his chair, stopping to move the monitor to the side so he could see out across the classroom. He sat down, propping his feet up next to the keyboard and grinning evilly at Jimin again before tapping on his wrist and raising his eyebrows as if to say “time’s a-wastin’”.
Jimin scowled and flipped the exam booklet over, writing his name and the date across the top before taking a deep, steadying breath and flipping over the cover page to read the first question.
His stomach sank. He was panicking. He didn’t know how to answer this, couldn’t even think of how to set up the reaction.
It’s okay , he comforted himself, just go to the next page, I’m sure you’ll be able to answer the next one.
He flipped the page again to reveal the second question.
Fuck. He didn’t know how to answer that one, either.
He made his way through the booklet in that fashion, becoming more and more concerned as the remaining pages dwindled and he had yet to find a single question he felt confident he could answer. His panic only grew as he flipped the last page over, mind blank as he stared at the crisp, unmarked white of the back of the booklet.
He’d gone through the entire test. He didn’t know how to answer a single question.
Jimin glanced over at Yoongi, who had his jaw clenched and looked just as white as the sheets of paper on his desk. It seemed it was going about as well for his friend as it was for him.
Jimin put his head in his hands, resting there for several moments as he tried to collect his thoughts and calm himself, before running his hands through his hair and determining that he would just do his best.
He might not have stepped on the seal, but his chances of passing this class weren’t looking great.
Having resigned himself to consider the worst possible outcome seemed to have cleared his mind a bit, because he found he was able to recall what might be the right formula for the first problem. Putting pencil to paper, he slowly but steadily worked his way through, feeling significantly more confident in himself as he solved the reaction, even chancing to believe that he may have gotten this one right.
He boxed in his final answer and moved on to the next page. This one was harder, but he’d garnered some confidence from the first problem, and thought he could probably manage this one as well if he applied himself. He got to work after a few careful moments of thought, beginning to draw out the reaction steps.
‘You forgot to balance the equation.’
“Jesus fuck!”
Jimin fell right out of his chair, a mess of flailing limbs, accidentally flinging his exam papers off the desk as he went down.
“Mr. Park!”
Mr. Cheon’s tone was far from pleased, but that mattered little to Jimin, still on the floor, head reeling as he tried to process what had just happened. A voice, someone else’s voice, had been inside his head.
It took several moments for the pain to register, finally cutting its way through the shock. His tailbone throbbed where he had landed on it, the sticky tile floor wholly unforgiving. He was sure to have a wicked bruise later. Jimin looked up to find many eyes on him, some concerned, others annoyed at the disruption.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered out, “there was… a spider… on my desk. Gave me a scare.”
The teacher’s pet scoffed, turning her back to him and presumably going back to acing the exam.
Jimin’s ass protested as he peeled himself from the floor and sat back in his seat, rather uncomfortably now, though the pain was just a dull blip in his mind as he wondered what the fuck just happened.
Had he imagined it? Was he that sleep deprived? Was this the start of his mental break? Or was it… ? No. No. He didn’t have time to think about that right now.
Suddenly, he was snapped to attention by a packet being slammed onto his desk. He lifted his gaze to find none other than Mr. Cheon, looming over him threateningly.
“You dropped this,” he murmured darkly.
“Thank you, sir,” Jimin replied in a small voice.
He found that the booklet was still open to the problem he’d been on. After reviewing the work he’d done so far so he could pick back up where he had left off, he discovered that he had, in fact, forgotten to balance the equation. What goes on?
He quickly corrected the error, brushing the eraser shavings off his desk and moving on to the next page, feeling quite shaken.
This time, his brain and fingers moved fast. Heat was still coloring his cheeks from the embarrassment of it all, and he was more than a little frazzled, which had his brain kicking into overdrive and his body pulsing with electricity as the adrenaline surged. He was well into the exam before he heard it again.
‘You actually only need one oxygen to balance that.’
Jimin started, but was proud of himself for not falling out of his chair this time. Today was not the day for this to be happening.
Who the fuck are you?
‘A bit of a harsh greeting, don’t you think?’ the voice questioned back.
“Go AWAY!”
He hadn’t realized that he said it aloud, didn’t recognize how his voice carried through the classroom. Several people turned, and Mr. Cheon glared menacingly from his desk. He nodded apologetically in their direction as his cheeks flushed.
“Just the spider again,” he mumbled—a lame excuse.
He re-balanced the equation and worked through the next few problems, thankfully, without interruption. He was starting to believe this may be the return of his sanity when—
‘Okay, I tried to ignore it, but you’re thinking so loud and making so many mistakes, how are you not failing this class?’
Jimin closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, pausing in his erasing of the error he’d just made.
I’m doing just FINE, thank you for your concern. Now kindly leave me alone so I can finish this fucking test. I’m tired and I want to go home.
In his irritation, he bore down with the eraser hard enough to rip the page. He let out a huff of air through his nostrils and sat very, very still for several moments to collect himself, like Taehyung sometimes made him do when he got too worked up. He was going to try very hard to not think any thoughts but the ones needed to solve the problems, go back to his dorm, pass out in his unmade bed expeditiously, then wake up and drink wine until he passed out again. And by that point, he could only hope that this strange voice in his head would be nothing but a distant, annoying memory.
Feeling only slightly better, he started to work again.
Balance the equation for the reaction of copper metal with the nitrate ion in acidic solution.
He tried to think about it. What did the acidic solution have to do with anything? He dragged his hands down his cheeks, making a face as he tugged on the skin. Fucking redox reactions. He hated them.
Resigning himself to his fate, he started what he knew would be a half-assed and entirely incorrect attempt at the reaction.
‘Your logic is flawed.’
“Well then you do it!”
“Park Jimin, is there a problem?”
Oh shit. He’d talked out loud again, hadn’t he?
Jimin chanced a sheepish glance up at Mr. Cheon. He looked as angry as he sounded, red-faced and fuming. Jimin figured his best bet was to apologize. Quickly.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Cheon. It won’t happen again.” He didn’t have to try hard to look contrite. He didn’t want to be kicked out of the midterm.
“See to it that it does not, Mr. Park, or I will have to dismiss you from the exam.”
Truthfully, Jimin was surprised he hadn’t been dismissed after the first interruption. He wondered why Mr. Cheon was being so lenient with him today, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
He put his head down, trying to regain focus, ‘Park Jimin, is there a problem?’ replaying in his mind. Yes, there was a problem. He was trying not to fail his midterm and he was hearing a voice that was most unwelcome at this point in his life, which was not only annoying in and of itself, but the voice was insufferably know-it-all about chemistry, apparently.
‘Well, yeah, I’m a chem major.’
Of fucking course.
‘Listen, you seem to be a little on edge and I don’t want to overstep but… I think you need my help.’
Fuck you, I studied.
‘You STUDIED???' The voice sounded immensely, irritatingly concerned. ‘Sorry, it’s just…This is worse than I thought.’
FUCK you.
The voice inside his head laughed. It was… a nice laugh. Jimin was stunned into silence for a moment.
‘I’m just messing with you, dude,’ came the voice. ‘Well,’ it started again, a little hesitant this time, 'kinda. Who pissed in your corn flakes this morning?’
Jimin sighed. He was so, so, tired he couldn’t even find the energy to muster snark for his reply.
Look, I’m exhausted. Chemistry is easily my worst subject, I don’t understand it at all. I’ve been studying for this midterm all night. I can’t afford to fail. Plus, I don’t think Mr. Cheon is my biggest fan.
The other voice snorted. ‘That man isn’t anyone’s biggest fan.’
A smile fought its way onto Jimin’s face.
‘... Let me help.’
The phrase was worded half-statement, half-question. Almost like the person was unsure. It was… a little endearing. It sounded sincere, but Jimin was wary. Why should they help him? What was in it for them?
But then again, they had been kind to him so far—a little annoying, a lot condescending, but kind. Maybe their intentions were pure, or maybe it was offered out of a sense of obligation. Either way, if they were being honest about their major, the material on this exam should be child’s play to them.
Jimin ran his hands through his hair, tugging until he felt pinpricks of pain on his scalp and collapsing with a sigh to rest his head on his desk. The cold felt good against his cheek, steadying.
Okay, pros and cons Jimin, make a list. Pro — this guy is a chemistry major. Con — what if he’s lying about his major? I don’t trust him. Pro — he’s been right before when he helped me with the equations, that has to count for something. Con — he’s annoying and snobby about it.
‘I can hear you, you know.’
Can you just Be Quiet, I’m trying to think here.
‘Really? With imagined capital letters and everything?’
Jimin rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that day.
It would be nice to pass this class with a decent grade. I could probably manage a high C or low B by myself, —
The voice snorted. ‘Doubtful.’
ANYWAY, Jimin thought, loudly (if this guy could discern his imagined punctuation, he was absolutely going to make use of it), I might like a better grade than what I could get on my own. But at what cost? Why, today of all days, am I hearing someone else’s voice in my inner monologue? Oh my god, I can’t think about that now, I’ll lose it. But really, what the fuck? I didn’t sign up for this — I never wanted this. This is some Freaky Friday shit.
‘In Freaky Friday they swapped bodies. They couldn’t hear each other's thoughts.’
Do you have to be right about everything?
‘Do you have to be wrong about everything?’
Jimin narrowed his eyes. Why did he sound amused?
He huffs. Fine, you can help me. Pouts. But only if it looks like I’m making a mistake.
‘I can work with that.’
Nodding in confirmation of their temporary truce and feeling much better about the situation, all in all, Jimin picked up his pencil and went to resume his work.
He read the next question. Re-read it. Slowly lowered his forehead to his desk, eyes screwed shut, pencil still upright. He had no fucking clue.
The voice chuckled again.
Is my misery entertaining to you?
‘Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t laugh. This one is tricky. Read it again for me.’
Jimin did.
‘Okay, so to even get this one set up you’re going to have to use dimensional analysis. What unit are you starting with and which unit do you need to have for the rest of the problem to make sense?’
S-starting with… grams of ammonia? And ending with atoms of hydrogen?
‘Exactly. So how would you set up dimensional analysis for that?’
And on they went. It was lightbulb after lightbulb for Jimin with the stranger’s guidance. He learned more about chemistry in the two hours it took them to jointly complete the rest of the exam (and fix his previous errors) than he’d learned all semester from Mr. Cheon or any of his many tutors. This guy was good, and he explained complex topics in ways Jimin found easy to understand. More than that, Jimin felt like he was actually learning. Like if he were asked to do this again, he’d be able to.
He was so pleased with this development that he couldn’t help his shit-eating grin when he collected his papers and took them to the front of the room to hand to Mr. Cheon. Mr. Cheon glared back at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but nodded as he took the papers from Jimin’s hand, begrudgingly granting permission for Jimin to leave.
Jimin barely made it out into the hallway before he was dancing with joy, shaking his fists and excitedly running in place, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet.
‘Congratulations, you survived! I’m not gonna lie, it was rough going there for a little while. I was worried you might not make it.’
Ha, ha, Jimin thought back, grinning from ear to ear as the bubble of elation and relief expanded in his chest.
‘I can practically hear you smiling,' said the stranger, sounding very much like he was smiling himself.
I’m happy, was all Jimin thought back. And he was.
‘And, if I recall, exhausted from pulling one too many all-nighters for midterms.’
Jimin had nothing to say about that, humming a noncommittal noise. He was right.
‘Go home and crash. Get some rest. This was your last one, right?’
Yeah, it was. Thank god.
The voice laughed again, and Jimin felt a strange swooping in his stomach.
‘Hey, Jimin, I was — ’
Had he called him by his name?
H-how do you know who I am?
‘Oh.’ Did the voice sound flustered? ‘I heard Mr. Cheon say it. Also, you tend to think your own name a lot when you’re talking yourself through a problem. I’m the same way.’
Ah. Well, I feel at a disadvantage here. You know my name, but I don’t know yours.
‘Kim Namjoon. Nice to meet you.’
Jimin let out a giggle at the sudden formality.
Wish I could say the same, he joked, the prospect of a week and a half of freedom making him giddy.
A sigh.
‘Anyway, what I was trying to say was… after you sleep it all off and wake up hopefully a lot less hard to get along with, would you…,’ he hesitated, and Jimin could practically feel his nerves, ‘would you like to get coffee? With me? In person? It might be nice to put a face to a name… you know… all things considered.’
Ah. Right, Jimin stalled, trying to get his bearings.
Namjoon. It was a nice name. Suited the disembodied voice in his head.
I do feel like we’ve bonded over this shared traumatic experience, he relented.
Namjoon’s laugh, loud with relief, bounced around his skull, and Jimin’s mouth pulled up at the corners.
‘How late do you think you’ll sleep tomorrow?’
At least until noon. Maybe even later.
‘Want to meet at Promise at 3pm? They have that new Dalgona coffee that’s trending everywhere.’
Jimin had heard of the little cafe before. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was only a few blocks’ walk from campus.
Sure, that...sounds nice. And it did. Jimin found himself very much looking forward to meeting the man behind the mystery voice.
‘See you then, Jimin.’ Namjoon’s voice was gentle. Held promise.
Jimin blushed. Kicked the trimmings of the grass off the edges of the sidewalk as he walked back to his dorm, suddenly shy. Saying that he had a lot to process before tomorrow was an understatement.
See you then… Namjoon.
***
Jimin couldn’t sleep.
He’d unlocked the door to his dorm, hands shaking as he fumbled the key out of the lock and stepped inside. He’d tossed his backpack down and toed off his shoes, not even bothering to turn on the lights. The room was dark and cool, his twin bed inviting—but slipping under the covers and closing his eyes wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d fantasized about all morning.
Jimin shut his eyes harder, pressing his palms against them until he could see lights bursting in miniature auroras on the backs of his eyelids. As tired as he had been, he felt so far from sleep now that it wasn’t even funny.
Scowling, he sat up in bed, scooting back until he could feel the faux wood of the headboard supporting him. He brought his knees up to his chest and hugged them close, looking once around the room before setting his chin on his knees and swaying a little back and forth, a self-soothing gesture he’d developed in childhood and never quite outgrown.
The dorm without Taehyung’s presence was nearly suffocating in its silence. It always was. Taehyung’s general inability to be quiet made the silence more pronounced when he was gone. But though he wasn’t there physically, remnants of Taehyung still littered the apartment—an antique gramophone that surely cost a fortune, tone arm half-raised; scattered, obscure records that he loved; a half-finished cup of tea. Jimin longed for Taehyung and his larger-than-life personality to burst through the door and bring back some of the oxygen that seemed to be missing from the room, so Jimin could breathe again.
Jimin could always forget whatever troubled him for a while when Taehyung was around to occupy him with his incessant eccentricities.
But it was silent. And Jimin was left with nothing to distract him from what he’d been avoiding all day. What terrified him. What he thought he would never have to face, never even have to consider, so rare were the chances of it happening.
Meeting his soulmate.
It was said that everyone in the world had one true soulmate that existed—their perfect other. It was said that when those two halves were within a certain proximity, they would be able to hear the other’s thoughts as their own.
Taehyung would sometimes remind Jimin of this, sighing dreamily over the drama and mystique of it all. “Think about how romantic it would be,” he would say, staring wistfully into the distance for effect.
Jimin would roll his eyes at the dramatics. “Think about how terrifying it would be,” he’d counter, horrified even at the thought of someone being able to hear his innermost thoughts.
Taehyung always believed it was true. Jimin always thought it was a crock of shit, practically the stuff of fairy tales. In a world full of billions of people, who would ever expect to get close enough to the other end of their red string that the connection could take root?
And yet, here he was, faced with confronting something he might not even be ready to consider—struggling to reconcile this new, undeniable evidence with what he’d believed his whole life. Because unless what he’d heard was a sleep deprivation-induced hallucination or a potential new psych diagnosis, it could be nothing other than the voice of his soulmate.
Kim Namjoon.
***
Jimin smoothed his hands down his shirt again, fiddling with the artfully distressed edge of the hem as he approached Promise. He’d woken up that morning feeling somehow simultaneously well-rested and like he’d been hit by a truck in that way only a desperately needed and hard night’s sleep could make you feel.
It also could have been the after-effects of the Benadryl he’d taken to turn his brain off and finally get some rest.
Knowing that he had the date (was it a date? did Namjoon consider this a date? he’d just asked him for coffee, right? no underlying implication that this was anything more than two strangers who happened to be brain-space-sharing soulmates meeting after taking a chemistry exam together), he put a little more effort into his appearance than he would normally, slipping on his favorite pair of black skinny jeans, a dressed up-yet-casual t-shirt, and his signature Chelsea boots. He went from one nervous tic to another, alternately running his hands through his hair and spinning the silver rings on his fingers. He’d tried to dress like he was cool and collected to hide his inner turmoil.
Interestingly, he’d had no further brain-to-brain communication with Namjoon after they’d decided on the time and place of their meeting, which Jimin found both comforting considering how much he’d agonized over meeting Namjoon in person and disconcerting considering the fact that he’d hinged his entire grade in a class on a disembodied voice in his head just the day before (and he was starting to doubt if he’d ever truly heard anything at all the longer the silence drew on). He’d spent half the morning convincing himself to get dressed on the off chance he hadn’t made it all up.
His nervous energy had him picking up the pace as the ‘clack-clack’ of his Chelsea boots on the sidewalk rang in his ears. He could see the shopfront now, and was trying not to break out in a panicked sweat as he approached the glass doors.
A bell tinkled above him as he opened the door, heralding his arrival. The shop smelled divine—espresso and freshly baked pastry was always a welcome scent to a tired, hungry college student. It had a relaxed vibe, with mismatched chairs and beanbags huddled around what looked to be thrifted tables. Low, dim bulbs hung from the ceiling, interspersed occasionally with strands of fairy lights. Splashes of green overtook the space—plants nestled between seats and tucked into corners and windowsills. Jimin immediately liked the place, and he found himself relaxing as he took it all in.
Having adjusted to the low lighting, his eyes scanned the room looking for.... for what, exactly? He realized at that moment that he had no clue what Namjoon looked like. Jimin pulled out his phone to text Namjoon and tell him he’d arrived before he remembered that he didn’t have his number either. All he had was a name and the memory of a stranger’s voice in his head. He sighed, cursing himself and feeling very much a fool standing in the middle of a coffee shop looking for a person he wasn’t even totally sure actually existed, when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He turned around and was met with a nervous, dimpled smile.
“Ah, excuse me, um, Park Jimin-ssi?”
Jimin’s brain short-circuited for a moment before—
“Kim Namjoon-ssi?”
The smile across the other man’s face grew, deepening the dimples and crinkling at the corner of his eyes. Jimin took the opportunity to look him over. He was tall, his well-built frame and sculpted arms at odds with the gentle, dimpled countenance and overall soothing aura.
Oh. Oh no. He’s cute. Well, hot. Cute AND hot. How is it possible that he’s both?!
Namjoon chuckled. ‘Thank you.’
Jimin blanched, lost for words. Namjoon seemed to take pity on him.
“I realized last night that I hadn’t gotten a description of you or a phone number or anything! I was going to contact you, but didn’t want to interrupt you if you were resting, so I ended up looking you up online.” The words came out too quickly in their rush to fill the lull in audible conversation. Namjoon rubbed at the back of his neck nervously, studiously avoiding Jimin’s gaze.
Jimin stared, shock making him blunt. “How would you have contacted me? You just said yourself you didn’t have my number.”
Namjoon just tapped his temple with his pointer finger, winking conspiratorially and immediately cringing at the action, like he was embarrassed of what he’d done. Jimin flushed. Of course, he thought, how could I forget?
“Thankfully,” Namjoon started, breaking what was shaping up to be an awkward silence, “you weren’t hard to find online, and recognizing you once you walked in was easy enough… though—,” he paused here, eyes dragging their way up and down Jimin’s body, gaze heavy like a touch. Jimin shivered. “—though you look a little different in person,” he finished.
“Different bad?”
“Different better.”
Jimin watched, mouth agape, as Namjoon sauntered past him, stopping only briefly to ask over his shoulder if Jimin was going to come order with him.
Who was this paradox of a man? This baby-faced beefcake, shy and confident in turns? Jimin, usually a confident gay and natural flirt, quite suddenly and unexpectedly found himself struggling to keep up.
“C-coming!” he said, just this side of too loud as he jogged the few paces to close the distance between them. He winced at the volume of his own voice, and hoped the barista didn’t notice how awkward he was being.
He hoped Namjoon didn’t notice how awkward he was being.
They ordered the Dalgona coffee and took it to one of the tables in the corner that was so surrounded by plants it felt like a tiny forest. It was only once they were seated, staring at each other for a little too long, that the conversation started up again.
“Did you rest well?” Namjoon asked.
Jimin picked at the cardboard cup sleeve, glancing up at Namjoon briefly before fixing his eyes back on the drink in front of him. “Not at first,” he answered honestly. “I - I had a lot of thinking to do about… about everything.”
Namjoon nodded sympathetically. “That’s… yeah, that’s understandable. It’s a lot to take in.”
The silence grew, expanded, until it settled down in the space between them, making itself comfortable. Jimin shifted, the opposite of comfortable in his chair.
“And what—,” Namjoon’s face looked pinched, pale, “what did you decide about it all?”
His voice was nothing more than a whisper, barely audible over the din of the cafe.
Jimin didn’t answer immediately, thinking the question over. What had he decided? Had he even come to a decision? Meeting your soulmate wasn’t exactly something you could plan for, and he imagined it would take a while for him to come to terms with the fact that he had supposedly met his perfect match.
But he was here, wasn’t he?
“I—I don’t really know,” he said softly. “It’s just… new.”
The reply seemed pitifully plain in comparison to all the thoughts he’d had swirling around in his head since yesterday. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Namjoon.
“What about you, Namjoon-ssi? What have you decided?”
For some reason, Jimin was nervous as he waited. It shouldn’t matter , he told himself, it shouldn’t matter what he says. Just because you’re “soulmates” doesn’t mean you have to latch on to each other and never let go. But he couldn’t quite convince his heart that he would be alright no matter what answer he was given.
“I don’t think it’s a bad thing,” Namjoon answered after some silence. “It wasn’t what I expected, but… but it doesn’t feel wrong,” he finished—voice hesitant, but sure. And then, a little less sure— ‘You’re right. It shouldn’t matter, but it does. It mattered to me, too. We don’t have to latch on and never let go quite yet, but… But I’d like to give this a try — give us a try. At least give us a chance to see what THIS even is. ’
I can work with that, Jimin thought back, echoing what Namjoon had said to him the day before, a slow, tentative smile working its way onto his face.
Namjoon beamed.
“I rested well once I finally did sleep,” Jimin offered. “Thanks to you, and also I guess because of you, the chemistry exam was the last thing on my mind last night.”
Namjoon hummed a pleased noise, bringing the artsy mason jar of coffee to his mouth to take a sip. His face contorted in clear disgust. Jimin threw his head back and laughed, what remained of the tension surrounding them broken.
“Not to your taste, Namjoon-ssi?” he teased.
Namjoon’s lips were pursed, and he looked pained as he forced a swallow.
“You could say that,” he replied, setting the mason jar back on the table and carefully scooting it very, very far away from him. Now that they’d addressed the elephant in the room, Jimin could go back to taking in the appearance of his “soulmate”—starting with the long, dextrous fingers that gripped the smooth glass of the jar. Jimin’s throat ran dry before he even got any farther, and he took a sip of the coffee (it wasn’t that bad ) to refocus before clearing his throat.
“So you’re a chemistry major.” It was neither a statement nor a question, but served its purpose in prompting Namjoon to speak.
“Yeah, I’ll graduate next year. What about you?”
“I’m a freshman. I haven’t quite figured out what I want to do yet, but I know for a fact it’s not chemistry.”
Namjoon chuckled, and Jimin thought it was a sound he could get used to. A sound he wanted to hear a million times more.
“Yeah, I’d say your chemistry skills are abysmal, at best.”
“Ya!” Jimin played at offense. “I’ll have you know that I would have been just fine if you hadn’t swooped in with all your distracting interruptions. I was tired and stressed, not incapable.”
Namjoon pulled a grim face, trying to disguise his amusement. “Sure, Jimin, whatever you say.”
“What happened to ‘Jimin-ssi’, hmm?” he purred. “Are we dropping honorifics now, Namjoon-ssi? Do we know each other that well?”
Namjoon paused, looking horror-stricken at the combination of the question and the flirty tone, and Jimin felt like the world had re-balanced. He was back to having some semblance of control, re-gaining confidence.
‘Oh shit, oh fuck.’
Jimin dissolved into a fit of giggles, recognizing that Namjoon, in his panic, had accidentally let down his mental defenses, and that he likely wasn’t supposed to have heard that.
I caught that, he teased.
The way Namjoon’s face lost all color told him his suspicions were right.
He felt euphoric, and he knew it wasn’t just the sweet caffeine coursing through his veins. He was crushing. Hard.
‘Cute. God, he’s cute.’
Jimin quirked an eyebrow. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically, blush spreading across his cheeks.
‘I take it you heard that, too, then.’
I did, Jimin thought, smug.
Namjoon groaned.
‘Can we pretend you didn’t?’
Not a chance. He winked, and the blush on the other’s face deepened.
Something struck Jimin, then.
“Why is this,” he gestured vaguely between them, “just now happening?” As far as Jimin knew, the connection could happen at any age, and he’d never heard of it not happening immediately, as soon as the two parties were close enough. He’d been on campus for seven months now, so why hadn’t Namjoon’s voice taken residence inside his head long ago? “You’re a chemistry major, right? Surely we would have been in that building at the same time at some point this year, or crossed paths last semester. So why now?”
“Ah, that,” Namjoon said, looking very much like he understood it all while Jimin was left understanding nothing. “I’ve been studying abroad since the start of last summer term, just got back last week. The jetlag was killer, so yesterday was the first day I felt human enough to go to the lab. Imagine how exhausting it was to sit down, finally ready to start compiling nine months of research into a paper for my independent study, and hear some freshman going through it over a chem 101 midterm,” he teased, eyes flashing with mirth.
Jimin spluttered indignantly, unable to form words. He was still trying to process nine months of doing research abroad. Just how smart was this guy?
“I—I guess that explains it,” he mused, finally recovering. “So, Mr. Study Abroad, would you like to have the honor of being my one and only chemistry tutor?” He batted his eyelashes coquettishly, surprised when Namjoon actually seemed affected by the action. Interesting.
Namjoon didn’t seem to have noticed that particular internal comment—or if he did, Jimin couldn’t hear what he thought about it. He made a mental note to ask him later how he managed to keep most of his thoughts out of Jimin’s head. That was a piece of information he could use.
“You have more than one?” is what Namjoon finally choked out.
“I’ve had so many,” Jimin lamented, serious. “None of them were as good as you.”
Namjoon flushed at the praise.
“Is that a yes?” he prompted.
“Yes!” Namjoon said, too enthusiastically. He cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said again, a little more composed.
“Good.”
***
Jimin discovered that they got along extremely well, hours passing in the blink of an eye. He learned that Namjoon was an only child, lived off campus (most likely too far for their connection to reach), and shared his distaste for Mr. Cheon. Jimin told him about his upbringing in Busan, his love for ice cream, and the enigma that was his roommate (Taehyung was just something one had to experience in person to truly get). The conversation flowed so naturally that he was shocked to look out the window and see the sun setting, his stomach chiming in with a loud grumble to let him know that they’d talked until it was nearing suppertime.
A ring distracted Jimin from his thoughts. He looked down to see Yoongi’s name across the lit-up screen of his phone. Shit. He’d forgotten he promised Yoongi that he’d meet him for food tonight.
“Excuse me,” he said, and Namjoon nodded.
He swiped across the screen to answer the call.
‘I never want to look at a fucking redox reaction again,’ Yoongi grumbled by way of greeting. Jimin’s eyes curved into their signature crescents as he smiled, amused by his friend. He looked to the street outside instead of at Namjoon, like he wanted to do. ‘Are we still on for the caf in ten?’
Jimin pulled his phone away from his ear so he could glance at the on-screen clock.
“Can we make it fifteen? I’m off campus right now and will have to walk back.”
‘Sure thing, just text me when you’re getting close. You know I’ll have my headphones on and I hate when you sneak up on me.’
Jimin rolled his eyes, smiling. “I know, I know. I’ll text you.”
‘See you soon,’ he grunted, hanging up before Jimin could respond. He was used to it—that was just Yoongi’s way.
He looked sheepishly across the table at Namjoon. To his genuine surprise, he didn’t want to leave, despite just having spent hours with the older. He felt horrible having to cut their time short.
“I’m so sorry, I promised Yoongi at the start of midterms that we would celebrate the end with horrible cafeteria food and too much alcohol. I had forgotten until he called.”
“That’s okay,” Namjoon assured. “I’m just glad I got to meet you today.”
He suddenly found the table very interesting, tracing the patterns in the grain with one long finger. “Maybe we could meet again sometime?”
It was a question…an offer. Jimin let out a breath and relaxed into a gentle smile.
“I’d like that. Let me give you my number this time.”
Namjoon fumbled his phone out of his pocket, dropping it on his lap once and the table twice before Jimin took pity on him and picked it up himself, endearing being the word he decided best described the man before him. He added his contact information and quickly sent a message to himself so he could save Namjoon’s number.
“Thanks,” Namjoon mumbled as Jimin slid his phone back across the sticky tabletop toward him.
They stood up, heading toward the exit. Namjoon held the door open for Jimin as they stepped out into the quiet evening, both a bit shy despite the easy conversation they’d fallen into while they sat. The chill of the early spring air cut through them, and it was like leaving the warmth of the cafe broke whatever spell they’d been under, now unsure how to handle themselves as they parted ways.
They stood awkwardly just outside the doors, both looking at their feet until Namjoon cleared his throat, breaking the silence.
“You know, I was outside Mr. Cheon’s office today. I heard him muttering to himself that the class average for the midterm was looking abysmal.” Jimin blanched. “He sounded delighted.”
“Kim Namjoon.”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t hoodwink me, did you? I cannot afford to fail that exam.”
Namjoon grinned wide, making some sort of weird half-laugh that had Jimin’s eye twitching in irritation.
He was messing with him.
“Namjoon,” he started, tone dark and deadly serious. “This is a very serious matter.”
Namjoon nodded solemnly, all trace of humor gone from his face in a mere moment. “Matter is anything that has mass and volume,” he returned, absolutely straight-faced. ‘And you’re a-mass-ing my feelings at an alarming rate.’
Wha —, he started, but no sooner than he’d thought it, he caught on.
“I feel sick,” said Jimin. He looked sick. “That wasn’t even a good pick up line.”
Namjoon laughed again, more sound on the inhale than anything else. Through the fading light of dusk though, as he watched Namjoon’s shoulders shake, Jimin could see a flush across the other’s cheeks that made him feel both grounded and, somehow, like he’d lost his footing again.
Like he was about to fall.
Like he might just be okay with that.
***
Call him crazy, and he probably was.
He was, because he was about to send the most ridiculous text. Jimin giggled, hugging the phone to his chest as butterflies filled his stomach at the thought. He’d had several too many drinks with Yoongi, and he was feeling bold.
He read over the elements again, double checking to make sure he’d gotten them right in his tipsy haze. The last thing he wanted was to send Kim Namjoon, master of all things chemistry, something totally nonsensical.
‘Iodine, Lithium, Potassium, Europium,’ it read. I Li K Eu. I like you.
He hit send, yeeting his phone across the room, then immediately going to find it in case Namjoon texted back quickly. His heart pounded in his chest, cheeks flushed uncomfortably red from alcohol and his confession.
He’d been thinking a lot about Namjoon since leaving the cafe, Yoongi even calling him out on how distracted he was a few times while they were together. And it spoke volumes that Yoongi even noticed, not typically one to pay attention to such things, much less remark on them.
He’d been thinking a lot about how easy it had been—to trust him, to talk to him (once they’d gotten started), to relax in his presence. Jimin wasn’t closed off per se, but he was definitely...guarded. Careful. He was friendly with everyone, flitting easily between different social circles and constantly collecting new friends along the way. He knew he was well-liked around campus, but there were very few who truly knew him. He preferred it that way.
It was natural for Jimin to worm his way into someone’s heart; it happened without him even having to try. People opened up to him willingly. It was a totally new thing, though, for him to have someone bypass all his defenses and make themselves at home. But that’s what Namjoon had done. And Jimin felt…comfortable - relieved, even - knowing that there was someone who heard and understood him—all of him, without him having to say a word. It was not the horrific fear he’d imagined all those times he and Taehyung had discussed it. It was… warm. Good. Easy.
His phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification. He swiped the notification open, breath caught in his chest.
Namjoon — 11:23pm
‘Tungsten, Boron, Potassium.’
Jimin rushed over to his desk, where his laminated copy of the Periodic Table of Elements he’d used to compose his own message still lay.
Tungsten, tungsten, tungsten — there you are! ‘W’
Boron. ‘B’
Potassium. ‘K’
WBK.
Jimin — 11:27pm
I know you didn’t just spell out ‘we been knew’ on the periodic table
Namjoon — 11:28 pm
;)
Alcohol and giddiness rushed through his veins, fueling a feeling that licked at the edges of his awareness, simmered just underneath his skin—not quite uncomfortable, but burning all the same. He thought this might be something worth exploring, something he could get used to, if it warmed him like this every time. He’d had crushes before, had thought he’d loved before, but he knew—he knew —that there was something different about this.
This.
They’d skirted around giving whatever ‘this’ was a title. They simply called it their ‘connection’, or gestured to fill the silence where words fell short of explaining.
Jimin laughed—a short, staccato sound, when he finally landed on something to describe it that felt right. It felt cheesy, and he may never even work up the nerve to tell Namjoon, but he knew what this was, what he’d call it (if only to himself), for the rest of his life.
He wouldn’t call it fate. He wouldn’t call it predestined. He wouldn’t call it star-crossed or a tale of soulmates brought together.
No, he’d call it what it was.
Chemistry.