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You tapped your green pen against your notebook as your nerves went haywire. Your eyes were locked on the door, filtering through the students that entered and exited the campus cafe. The only thing on your mind was him. You let yourself spare a quick glance at the clock. It was five till ten, which meant he would be arriving any second now.
You could feel your heart quicken at the thought of him, a cursed reaction you could never, for the life of you, control. But, then again, there were a lot of things you couldn’t control when he was near. Like your words. You suddenly lost the ability to keep your mouth shut when he was close by. You’d go on and on about the stupidest topics. You cringed as you recalled last week’s meeting and your never-ending rant on bread. Who the hell cares about its “soft and bouncy texture”? You shuddered at your words, shaking the memory away.
The good news was you couldn’t possibly say anything worse than that…right?
You refocused your attention back on the door. When you couldn’t spot him, you checked the clock behind the counter; five past ten.
He was late. He had never been late before, always arriving fifteen minutes before the agreed time.
This might just be a blessing in disguise. If he showed up later, that meant you had less time to embarrass further yourself. Yet, still, you stared at the door waiting fo-
His hair was dark fawn, pushed back to expose his forehead. You had never felt my heart burst at the sight of a freaking forehead until now. Who told him that was allowed, and why the hell did he listen? You weren’t making it out of there alive.
He smiled, displaying his cute dimples, and settled into the seat before you. “Hey,” he greeted, slightly breathless.
My lips twitched as they stretched to return the smile. “Hi,” you breathed. Your eyes flickered to his shirt for a second. Loosely-fitted, it dangerously revealed his collarbone, and all your words failed you for once.
This is it. This is how I die.
“Sorry I’m late,” he chuckled, pulling out his notebook and yellow pencil case. “Three of my roommates attempted to make pancakes and almost burned down the entire apartment.”
I couldn’t meet his eyes. You knew you’d only end up staring aimlessly into them while he awkwardly waited for you to say something. “It’s okay,” you muttered as you opened your notebook to the last page you two were on.
He did the same, then leaned over the table, closer to you, trying to meet your distant gaze. “Everything okay?” he asked.
You bit your lip to keep your nervous word vomit from taking over. You let yourself indulge in a quick glance, to which he offered a smile. You felt your heart scream and cry at the same time, fighting against your ribcage. You didn’t let yourself speak, knowing nothing good ever came out of it. You only nodded and forcefully redirected your focus to the scribbled page.
He let out a small sigh. It was clear he wasn’t at all convinced but didn’t push you any further as he returned to his previous posture and, too, focused on the task at hand.
“So, we left off with the idea of using old, rusted bikes to explore the concept of distorted societies. I was thinking about it last night and even this morning. What if we further narrow it down to the lack of strong female representation in society? We can discuss the history of suffrage and talk about how women have only ever been humoured in society. Then, we can end the song with the demand that women be taken seriously and mention some strong female influencers and leaders who have proved others wrong.”
Everything about Kim Namjoon was beautiful. He had a heart of gold, a mind of wonder, and a soul of kindness. You had never met someone with such understanding and awareness. Not to mention, he was a genius. He could truly take something as simple and mundane as rusted bikes and turn it into a feminist anthem.
“I also think you should be the one to rap it,” he quietly added.
You snapped your head to him, ignoring that playfully guilty look in his eyes. “But, I told you I don’t want to sing. You’re supposed to rap.”
Your love ridden nerves crashed into your terrified ones. A lump started to develop in your throat as you started to feel dizzy.
“I never said sing; I said rap,” he smirked.
You shook your head, unable to wrap your mind around his words. “What makes you think I can rap?”
He chuckled as his brows knitted together in confusion. “Do you not remember how you went off about bread last week? You practically wrote a verse about it.”
He laughed again as you visibly cringed at the wretched memory. “And I’ll be rapping too,” he continued, “but I think you should carry most of the song considering it is about feminist and who better to guide us through the injustice against women than a woman.” He furrowed his brows, then picked up his pen and added, “I should probably write that down.”
You attempted to suppress a smile at his dorkiness, a part of him that your heart couldn’t seem to get enough of.
He looked back up and smiled at you, calming and erupting your nerves all at once. “So, will you do it?”
“Do I even have a choice?” I chuckled.
He smiled, “Of course you do.” Then, he scribbled in his notebook again, muttering, “That’ll make a great verse.”
You were late this time, rushing into the café with a look of complete guilt. Your hair was slightly messy, hidden under a red hat. Your frame was swallowed up by an oversized shirt that somehow also doubled as a dress, stopping at your knees, and an even bigger yellow jacket slipping off your shoulders. Namjoon’s heart burst at the sight. Who told you that was allowed, and why the hell did you listen?
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you sighed, settling in the seat before him. Worry contorted your face as you noticed his half-full cup of cold tea. “How long did I keep you waiting?”
Namjoon thought about the last thirty minutes and shrugged, slightly shaking his head. “Not long at all.” He would’ve waited thirty hours if it meant he’d be able to see you again.
“Really?” you asked, then quickly shook your head. “I’m still sorry though. My professor just wouldn’t shut up about his freaking cats. Who the hell knew someone could go on like that for thirty freaking minutes?”
Namjoon suppressed a smile as he recalled your last few rants on bread, pyjamas, and the colour blue. You were so cute when you went on like that. He could listen to you talk all day. “I certainly didn’t,” he teased with a playful smirk.
You rolled your eyes as a little smile of your own stretched upon your lips. Namjoon swore that smile was so pure it could cure diseases. He tried not to blush at the sight and asked, “So? What’s our grade?”
Your song was presented last week. You were both supposed to be present but Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung decided their pancake attempt didn’t amount to as big of a failure as they desired. So, they tried to make waffles that morning and somehow all got shocked. Namjoon was forced to take them to the hospital with Jin and couldn’t be there to present with you.
You ruffled through your back and pulled out a crumpled rubric. You offered a sheepish smile at the sight of the creased page and tried to flatten it on the table.
Too cute.
Namjoon was about to tell you it was okay, but you handed it to him before he could even open his mouth. A red A+ was circled over the page. He smiled up at you as a little laugh escaped him.
Your cheeks tinted a bright pink, and you redirected your gaze to your lap. He glanced between the paper and your flushed features.
He couldn’t stop thinking that this was his last chance to make something real out of whatever relationship you two already had. He mustered up whatever courage he could find and said, “We should celebrate. Are you free tonight?”
You snapped your head up to him, eyes wide and face redder than your hat. “T-tonight?” you stuttered. When he nodded you asked, “Just the two of us?”
Namjoon offered you half a grin, replying, “Yeah.”
“So…” you trailed off, watching him carefully. “Like a – um, date?”
Namjoon couldn’t help the rush of blood in his cheeks at your words. Your hesitance sent his love ridden and terrified nerves into a crashing frenzy. “Yes,” he muttered, unable to fully trust his voice.
You smiled, rapturing his heart, “Tonight’s perfect.”
You’re perfect.