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Taehyung mindlessly taps his pen on the opened page of his Statistics book, eyes skimming the page but not actually reading the words written there. The lesson is easy enough for him to understand—he’s learned about interpolations in passing back in freshman year—but despite that, the level of the problems he’s dealt with before is completely easy compared to this one, not to mention that the sample problems they were given in class were completely different from the ones he’s staring at.
He’s so absorbed in his work that he doesn’t notice a new customer coming in through the doors of the café until she’s sliding into the chair opposite his. “More homework?” a familiar voice asks, and Taehyung looks up to see Jiwoo, blonde locks tucked into one ear as she rests her chin on the back of her palm, elbows perched on top of the table. She tilts her head closer to get a better view of the text on Taehyung’s book, but Taehyung, surprised by the sudden closeness of their proximity slams the book shut, eyes blinking fast.
“What.”
“Statistics majors.” Jiwoo scoffs, as if that would completely explain Taehyung’s reaction.
Taehyung squints his eyes up at Jiwoo, making his tone sound mockingly scathing in retaliation. “Classical Music majors.” The corners of Jiwoo’s lips twitch in the form of a small smile, but it’s gone before it completely settles on her features.
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes at him, crossing her arms over her chest. Taehyung notices that she’s wearing makeup today unlike most days when she can’t even be bothered to wear lip gloss or put on foundation, and that she’s dressed pretty nicely—her black, short-sleeved dress hugging her frame. She’s also wearing a golden necklace—the one he remembers her telling him was from her mom when she wore it to school once—the star pendant resting above the place where her heart is, and it’s one of those rare times he’s seen her wear any jewelry her mom had given her instead of the dark-colored chokers she usually likes wearing. “Anyway, I’m going to go order. You want the usual?”
The usual, to Taehyung, is a tall glass of iced Americano, a burger, and some spaghetti (Jiwoo had laughed at his choices, saying it was a funny mix between a kid’s, a teenager’s and an adult’s preferences. He shrugged it off, saying that he liked those anyway so it doesn’t matter, and she told him that his choices were fitting of him. He still doesn’t know exactly what she had meant by that). He nods, eyes still trained on Jiwoo as she stands up to make her way to the counter and place their orders.
The usual, to Taehyung, is him sitting still, not doing anything, with his eyes glancing towards Jiwoo, gravitating towards her as always. The usual, to him, is not saying anything about the crazy beating of his heart whenever she’s with him and pretending that his breath doesn’t hitch when she’s too close for comfort or when she makes a sweet gesture for him.
To him, the usual would consist of Jiwoo glancing back at him to give him a reassuring look that everything’s fine despite his constant worrying over even the smallest things, and him giving a tentative smile back when he catches her lips quirking up to a smile.
She brings their orders over with the help of one of the unoccupied baristas, and Taehyung has barely gotten a ‘thank you’ out of his lips when the barista gives him a knowing smile before turning away. He freezes, caught off-guard, and he wants to clarify that there’s nothing going on between Jiwoo and him—that they’re just friends.
They’ve always been friends ever since that time over a year ago, when he was in his second year in the university and Jiwoo was a freshman, bright-eyed and curious about all the new things she’s certainly hadn’t seen back in the arts high school that she’s gone to but is never the type to back down in a fight. And maybe, Taehyung thinks with a bitter smile to himself, they’ll always be just that—friends.
He helps her move the food from the trays to their table, and when their fingers briefly brush against each other when he’s handing her the Peppermint Mocha she’s so fond of, he looks away and pretends he doesn’t feel a jolt of electricity through his skin from the contact.
She doesn’t seem to mind it too, proceeding to scarf down her portion of the nachos they usually share, letting her cheeks fill before chewing. “Go start eating already, it’s not all the time that I get to receive my salary.” And get to treat you food, her eyes seem to say, and he promptly digs in to his own plate, a smile forming on his lips as he recalls Jiwoo looking mildly pissed as she stamps book after book in the library while sweating in her administered white polo shirt, the fabric too thick that she’s complained more than once that she’s going to melt before the year ends (Taehyung had pointed out that there were new air conditioning units installed in the library, but Jiwoo still insists that it’s too hot). She always looks like she’s about to murder someone whenever they don’t return the books on time, but he knows she just cares about her part-time job a lot, more than anything.
“So,” Taehyung tries, stabbing his fork into the spaghetti and swirling it. He glances back at her and takes in the soft features of her face that contrasted the harsh way she sometimes spat out strings of expletives; the sparkle of mischief in her eyes that was a far cry from the pointed look she usually gives most of the strangers that try hitting on her, never letting her guard down unless she’s around the people she’s comfortable with. “What’s with the look?”
She looks down at the dress she’s wearing, and when she looks back at him, she finally lets herself smile. Taehyung thinks it looks good on her—it makes her look like the kind person that she is under all those defensive layers of biting words and sarcastic remarks; it makes her look less of the person he’s come to like and more of the person he’s noticed the first time he’s seen her in the parking lot, struggling with carrying her books and her clarinet case.
“I’m going on a date.” She says, and Taehyung blinks dumbly at her, letting that sink in. Sure Jiwoo’s mentioned anecdotes from the few dates that she’s gone to a few times when she was still a freshman and some that mostly went awry, but she’s never talked about being in an actual, committed relationship and Taehyung’s just kind of assumed that she isn’t the type to go settle down and commit herself into a relationship. But he guesses that even though they’ve known each other for more than a year already, there are still a lot of things he doesn’t know about her. “Somin unnie set me up with this guy she knew back in high school. She said he liked chic girls so I’m going for the cold, distant and untouchable look.” She finishes, looking satisfied, and throws her hair back for added effect. “Do I look good?”
Pretty, Taehyung wants to say. Except his throat hurts and his mouth doesn’t want to form the words, and he feels as if he’s swallowed glass and it’s cutting through his esophagus. He’s jealous, he knows it already—doesn’t even try to deny it in his mind, when he knows how long this dilemma he has over feeling something for a girl who might just not look back at him the way he looks at her has lasted. Sometimes it eats at him, clawing at his throat until he can’t say a thing and he just hangs his head low to hide the fact that he’s choking on words that he wants to tell her. Please don’t go. Please stay with me instead.
But sometimes, like today, he just lets it simmer down to a boil in his stomach because he knows there’s nothing good that’s going to come out of it. It will pass, he tells himself; he knows it will. He’ll just have to get used to more of this, because they aren’t anything if not friends, and he doesn’t want to ruin that.
He just chews on his food for a moment to busy himself, but then she looks like she’s expecting for him to say something—anything at all—so instead, he settles for, “Just don’t go crushing someone’s heart. Or balls.”
“Oppa, I am a nice person. Come on, what do you take me for?” She scoffs. She looks like she’s still about to say something, but before she could do anything else, she goes back to eating instead. The silence that follows makes Taehyung wish that he’s said something else.
He stares at the downturn of her lips when she chews on the nachos, thoughtful, as if she were analyzing the explosion of flavors in her mouth; at the puff of her cheeks from her mouth being filled with food; at the way her nose twitches, uncomfortable in the silence between them. And so, he opens his mouth and lets himself be honest, for the most part. “You look pretty.”
She looks up at him, eyes wide in surprise and mouth hanging open. It’s really unattractive, the way there’s still some sauce around her lips and there are bits of food stuck to her teeth, but Taehyung finds it adorable and fuck—he thinks he would be needing some pep talk with himself if he wants to come out of this alive and not completely eaten by his emotions. “You really think so?”
“Of course I really think so.” He says, and it’s almost second nature to him by now that he reaches out to pat Jiwoo’s head softly, careful not to mess up her hair. She doesn’t push his hand away, or frown at him for messing up her hair—just beams up at him like it means the whole world to her to hear him say that and happily goes back to eating.
Somehow, Taehyung isn’t sure if the loud thumping noise he’s hearing in his ears is from his heart, or if he’s just imagined it.
“Ah, I know that look whenever I see it on someone.” Matthew clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth after giving Taehyung an indiscreet sidelong glance. “You’re pining.”
Stupid friends and their stupid observations, Taehyung sighs to himself. He supposes it’s kind of obvious anyway, with the way he sent a message to Matthew, asking him to meet up at the pub in the block that’s a bit far from his or Jiwoo’s place so that the chances of them running into each other in a night such as this is low. He shifts in the bar stool so he’s looking at Matthew in the face. “I’m not.”
Matthew only raises his eyebrows at Taehyung. “You are.” There’s a pause in the conversation for when Matthew nods at the bartender, telling him he’d have some whiskey please, on the rocks, and a drink for his friend, too. The bartender nods and proceeds to make their orders, and Taehyung slinks back in his chair when Matthew returns his attention to Taehyung. “Just tell her, man. Stop looking at her like a constipated mule whenever you’re thinking about asking her out on a date.”
“Oh god.” Taehyung groans, burying his face in his hands. He’s not sure if it’s a California thing or if he’s just too obvious, but at this rate, Matthew seems to be seeing right through him. He just hopes Jiwoo hadn’t noticed yet and was just playing dumb all along because that would be even more embarrassing. “I am, aren’t I?”
“Well that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past two decades.” Taehyung wrinkles his nose at Matthew’s erroneous information. He’s known the guy ever since they were in high school—been friends with him through half of that after they went past the initial stage of trying not to fight over spots in the list of honor students (which mostly happened because Matthew said he was tired of studying and wanted to pursue better, more interesting things. Like trying out magic tricks, for example). It was ridiculous (although Taehyung isn’t sure if he should be the one saying that since he’s been through a similar phase, only when he was younger), but they ended up being close friends after that particularly long talk circling about their lives, and had decided to keep in touch until now that they’re in college.
“Dude, we’ve known each other for five years.”
“Same thing.” Matthew waves him off, and receives the drinks from the bartender with a huge, childish smile that has his eyes disappearing into crescents and a word of thanks. He slides the glass with clear liquid in it to Taehyung, who takes it with a suspicious look on his face. Matthew takes a swig from his own cup, eyebrows raising in question at the look Taehyung gives him—like he’s about to ask a question.
“What’s this?” Taehyung asks, and judging by the grunt Matthew makes, it probably wasn’t the question he was expecting (although it seemed like he was expecting at least part of it, knowing that Taehyung would probably go to ends trying to avoid a lot of things—confrontation about his feelings for Jiwoo being one of them).
“Medicine.” Matthew says, voice raspy from the drink. He clears his throat before putting the cup back to his lips and drinking from it.
Taehyung sniffs at the drink slightly, scrunching his nose when he gets a whiff of the strong smell of alcohol. “This is vodka.” It’s not like he hasn’t drank before, but he isn’t really fond of drinking. Drinking, in his opinion, though deemed initially harmless and a source for him to let loose and ease back and relax, could lead to bad decisions. And with the way he’s carrying his feelings like it’s a burden instead of being part of him, he doesn’t think he needs to make even more bad decisions.
“Medicine for the heart, then.” Matthew pats his chest—just a little bit right above his heart. “I heard from Somin that Jiwoo went on a blind date and I know you’re internally crying over that.”
Taehyung eyes the drink with calculating eyes. Sometimes he isn’t sure if he’s thankful for the fact that Somin works part-time at the bookstore that Matthew’s family owns because that would mean she could keep an eye on him in times when he’s prone to make bad decisions (like that one time Matthew almost got convinced into going skinny dipping in a nearby hotel’s swimming pool by his frat buddies) or horrified because that would mean that Somin could just as easily find a lot of dirt on him because of Matthew’s tendency to gossip and relay the message to Jiwoo.
“I am not crying over anything.” He says, before downing half of the vodka in one go. Maybe all he needs is to be drunk enough for this conversation.
He immediately regrets it—the alcohol burns down his throat and he feels a stinging sensation, his face suddenly getting warm. “Fuck, you liar. This isn’t medicine—I don’t feel better at all.”
“No, you’re the liar. You never tell her what you really feel.” Matthew says under his breath, but Taehyung doesn’t hear it. In a louder voice, Matthew says, “You will be crying then.” When Taehyung asks, Matthew doesn’t say why—only takes a sip from his drink, so he does the same and drink from his own cup, too. “And I’m not a liar. Reading Chemistry books will prove to you that alcohol is a solution.”
“I don’t think that those books meant it that way.” Taehyung say, squinting at Matthew.
“Like I said,” Matthew waves him off, wrinkling his nose at his drink. “Same thing.”
By the time Taehyung wakes up, it’s to a pounding headache and a burning feeling at the back of his eyelids. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand and blinks several times in an attempt to adjust his eyes to the light filling the room.
From his peripheral vision, he spots someone hovering by the door, but he’s too disoriented to recognize that it’s Jiwoo until she’s sitting in front of him, handing him a glass of water. “You look like shit.” She says, tone light with a hint of teasing, but it sounds more of an observation than to annoy him.
“Well I feel like shit.” Taehyung replies, wincing as his voice comes out hoarse from disuse. He clears his throat and thankfully takes the glass of water from Jiwoo, gulping it down in one go. He looks around him and notices that he got back to his apartment safely, and he glances at Jiwoo. He remembers downing every shot of vodka that Matthew had offered him, the logical part of his brain numbing down after the first shot, and his third and fourth shots living him slightly tipsy. He guesses he got too drunk after that because he doesn’t remember anything after the eighth shot and telling Matthew that he wished Jiwoo were there.
“Well she is here now,” he reminds himself, and he groans more about that fact instead of the pounding in his head. It’s obvious that Jiwoo was the reason why he’s gotten home at all—he knows Matthew long enough to know that Matthew would have gotten shit-faced too instead of staying sober to drive himself and Taehyung home and then calling someone over to help him fix his mess up. “I didn’t do anything funny, didn’t I?”
Jiwoo shrugs, as if her presence in Taehyung’s apartment was nothing either. Taehyung isn’t sure what he’d feel that Jiwoo looks comfortable enough with it just being the two of them in his apartment. Feels kind of domestic, isn’t it? A voice in his head asks, but he blots out the thoughts by groaning again.
Jiwoo has seen Taehyung in cases where he was worse for wear (meeting up with the person you like on finals week isn’t exactly the best decision to make, but Taehyung didn’t get the memo before so that part’s already a lost cause for him), and although he doesn’t feel that self-conscious whenever he’s around her like the first time he’s found out he has feelings for her, still, he would want to at least look presentable in front of Jiwoo. So he gets up from his bed instead and heads over to the bathroom.
“If you did, I would’ve cut your balls already.” Jiwoo calls from outside the bathroom, and Taehyung laughs despite the pain in his skull, because it’s a statement that’s so typical of her.
When he’s out of the bathroom, face freshly-washed and clothes changed from his tight-fitting black shirt and camo pants (thankfully, Jiwoo had taken off his jacket and his socks and shoes so he isn’t all that uncomfortable when he woke up) to a more casual shirt and pajama pants, Jiwoo blinks up at him, asking him to cook up some breakfast. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to make one, greasy breakfast for me since it was me who got hungover and not you?”
“There are no rules about that, oppa.” Jiwoo says, and she pads into the kitchen with a smug smile even before Taehyung could protest, confident that she’s already won over Taehyung.
Taehyung’s cooking up the best fried eggs he could make with his head still hurting, but thankfully, the pounding has subsided a bit.
Jiwoo takes a chair near the small dining table and spins it around before sitting on it so she could watch Taehyung while he works. It sends shivers down Taehyung’s spine, how domestic this setup feels like. A part of him wishes that this is just a dream, so when he looks over his shoulder, she’d be smiling up at him with a look of fondness in her eyes. But the pain his headache is causing tells him that he’s awake, and this is the reality that he’s facing and not the dream that he’s been longing for.
Jiwoo’s quiet—too quiet, which is how she gets when she’s thinking about something. He glances over his shoulder to look at her and make some lame joke, but she looks like she’s deep in thought. And yet Taehyung couldn’t help but say anything, the silence stretching on between them growing too stifling for him.
“So uh… How was your date?” his mouth feels dry again after letting the words slip out of his lips, immediately regretting his decision. The words doesn’t sound right coming from his mouth, and it gives a weird ring to his ears.
“Ruined.” Jiwoo simply says, as if it weren’t a big deal at all. Taehyung isn’t sure if it’s because she’s trying to pretend to be cool or she just doesn’t care about it at all. “Matthew oppa called me last night asking where you put your keys because he’s too drunk to look through your wallet. And I had to give you both a lift home.”
“But you don’t have a car. Or a license.”
“Somin unnie does.” Jiwoo says as-a-matter-of-factly, and sometimes, although Taehyung’s glad that Somin’s got Jiwoo’s back on all affairs even outside of their classes and other academic activities that they had to do because they were in the same course, he’s kind of jealous with the kind of privilege Somin had with Jiwoo. “And you guys should be thankful that she’s nice enough to drive you guys home.”
“Sorry about that. And thank you. And uh… your date. Sorry about that too.” Although I’m not, really. And sorry for being glad that your date didn’t go well either. The corner of Taehyung’s mouth twitches. “You should tell your date what happened, I don’t want you guys having any misunderstandings because of me.”
Jiwoo looks at him like he’s said something wrong, and Taehyung feels like he did say something wrong. He’s ready to apologize even when he doesn’t know what it was for, but then Jiwoo is pouting at her. “Were you always too nice?” Jiwoo scrutinizes his face when he doesn’t answer and just blinks at her. He really doesn’t know what to say—he grew up being told that he should be nice to people all the time, but Jiwoo’s here, with that look on her face that kind of implies that he shouldn’t be. He doesn’t know why she’s reacting like that—it’s not like he’s being a pushover. He’s just trying to avoid conflicts as much as possible.
“I didn’t enjoy it anyway.” Jiwoo shrugs, and Taehyung doesn’t know why she’s being so nonchalant about this when yesterday, she sounded quite excited for her date, even making effort to look good for that guy. “Truthfully it was kind of a relief for me when Matthew oppa called last night. I had to get out of there some way.”
Taehyung winces. He’s heard of a lot of funny date stories from Jiwoo, but this is the first time she’s making things sound like a bad idea. “Was it that bad?”
“No. He’s pretty nice, actually. Too nice. Even nicer than you.” Jiwoo is quiet for a moment, as if she’s weighing something in her mind before saying it. Taehyung turns off the fire and puts the cooked eggs on a plate, stopping in his steps when he turns around to see Jiwoo looking at him with a kind of melancholic expression.
Taehyung visibly gulps. This is the first time he’s seeing this look on Jiwoo’s face, and his hands are itching to reach into his pocket and take his phone out to take a photo of her. But then she’s standing up, taking small steps closer to him before taking the plate from him. “But he wasn’t like you.”
Taehyung blinks. Once. Twice. Thrice. Four times for good measure. Jiwoo sighs, shaking her head at his slow upkeep, but there’s a smile playing on her lips when she puts the plate with cooked eggs on the table.
“What? You wanted him to be like me, then?” Taehyung asks, a little too late.
“No, I wanted him to be you.” Jiwoo’s voice is so quiet that her words barely comes out as a whisper, but Taehyung kind of gets it where this is going now. “Can’t you tell? I like you.”
And there it is—his dream, turning into a reality right here, in front of him. He’s waited his whole life for the perfect moment, but he’s always felt like it would never come.
Maybe because there never was a perfect moment in the first place; only those passing times that could have been the best opportunity if only he tried. And now, if he lets this opportunity pass right in front of him, he knows he’s going to regret it.
Jiwoo blushes, cheeks turning into a shade of pink that he doesn’t remember seeing on her before. “This is embarrassing. I should just have shut up.” She mumbles under her breath.
“Hey.” Taehyung touches her arm lightly, and she looks up, eyes going glassy when he gives her a smile. “Can’t you tell either? I like you too.”
The expression on Jiwoo’s face shifts right away and she snorts rather unattractively, but Taehyung can’t really blame her—it took him too long to say this when it was just so easy to do. “Then why the fuck aren’t we dating?”
“You want us to?”
Jiwoo playfully swats his arm. “I was waiting for you to say something!”
Taehyung blinks at her. “I was waiting for you to drop hints.”
“I’ve been dropping hints all this time! What kind of hints did you want, bombs falling out of the sky?” Jiwoo says, exasperated, but then she laughs, and there’s a fond look in her eyes that Taehyung only notices now. Maybe she was right—maybe she’s always liked him, but he was just too dense to notice. “I can’t believe I like someone as dense as you.”
She shakes her head again. “I can’t believe I like someone who gives misleading hints.”
“Well, what can you do about it?” Taehyung reaches out impulsively to pat Jiwoo’s hair, and he stops, hand hovering over her head. But then Jiwoo is pulling his wrist, lowering his hand so he could do just that.
“I’m not objecting to petting.” She mumbles and Taehyung beams widely at her, proceeding to pat her head.
“We should go on a date, shouldn’t we?” Jiwoo peeks at him from her fringe, which has long gone turned as mussed up as her hair.
“We should.” Taehyung says, and this time, on a bolder note, he reaches out to her using his free hand and squeezes her hand. “I know a nice place.”