Jimin moaned, letting his head thump onto the library desk. Two a.m. had come and gone as the stack of books shifted from the left to the right of the desk, choked with sticky notes and colored tabs like overzealous confetti. One hand was cramped into a stiff claw from two hours of continuous essay-writing practice and his was a deadened block attached to the bottom of his torso.

The university library stayed open 24 hours a day during mid-terms and finals. Jimin took advantage of this by staying and using the non-borrowable, library-only textbooks to study –a life-saver because he literally couldn’t afford the books he needed for class. The special hours also meant that a librarian never hunted him down and kicked him out. So, he never left.

It was nearly four a.m. and his next mid-term was at nine the next morning, or rather, later this morning.

As tempting as it was to succumb to sleep and spend the rest of the night slumbering across the desk top, he needed to get back to his ty apartment for a few different reasons, the main two being nourishment and a change of clothes that didn’t smell like sweat, desperation, and regret, all of which had taken a starring role at various points throughout the night.

Still, the prospect remained unappealing. Getting up would a challenge enough in and of itself thanks to his sleeping . Then a 30-minute walk, one directly through the rough part of town north of campus at an odd hour of the morning. If he made it home without being mugged, Jimin would have to make the same walk back in only a few hours’ time.

The chair legs screeched on the linoleum as he stood. He winced. The sound echoed through the room, but Jimin was the only student in this particular study area tucked away on the sixth floor.

The real deal breaker was the pinched, almost nauseating sensation of an empty stomach that’d been hounding him off and on for hours.

Jimin gathered his notes and supplies, dropped the books off to be re-shelved, and stalked through the entrance, throwing a wave at the sleepy student librarian at the front desk.

Despite the tempting aroma of fast food that wafted across campus as he briskly made his way across the library lawn and onto the sidewalk heading north, even a small fry was beyond his means. His wallet would be crying right now if it could, being just about as empty as his stomach. Jimin stayed in college on the grace of his phenomenal grades, a few key scholarships, and an otherworldly ability to pinch and save every penny humanly possible.

Jimin scurried across the street when the light changed, careful to double-check for cars. He couldn’t trust any of the few drivers out this late, or early. Who knows if they were sleepy or drunk, or not looking out for scrawny college students trying to get home safely. The only thing he needed was to get hit by a car and have to deal with a broken leg or face. Medical bills were no joke.

During the past few years, he’d outright refused to buy any textbooks, printed all of his papers in the one computer lab that allowed students to print for free even though it was technically in a different department, always bought groceries and made his own food, walked everywhere, and worked almost full-time hours while juggling a full class load. The rest of his supplies were hand-me-downs or gifts from other students he befriended in classes. Throughout all this, Jimin wasn’t ashamed. He was making his way through college and paying for it himself.

So during the rest of his walk home, Jimin held his backpack straps tightly and stayed hyper-vigilant for cars or hooligans who could hurt him or strip him of his bag, which held nearly everything important and would be disastrous to replace.

A few people passed on the other side of the street, but none paid more attention to him than a cursory glance. Across six more streets, up a hill, down over the creek, cut through the only parking lot with working lights, and Jimin was home without incident. One of the few positives of living so far away from campus was that his cardio had vastly improved over the last three years, especially due to mornings he ran late or class went over and he had to run to make it to work on time.

Yawning, he pushed through the front door of the apartment building, which didn’t lock or require a key code. The building itself was a dirty pile of brick with tiny windows and rotting wooden accents that needed ripped out and replaced. The hallways were dark, cave-like tunnels with thin, gray, tatty carpets so dirty that wiping your shoes on them got your shoes dirty. These were to be traversed with caution: their narrowness meant a neighbor coming out of their apartment would plaster you against the wall and the shadowy stairwells and corners were the perfect place to knock into other tenants and send them tumbling. Or for someone to snatch your wallet from your back pocket without either person getting a clear look at each other’s faces.

Jimin shuffled to apartment 115 and shoved the door open after fiddling with the sticky lock. Dumping his book bag in the entryway, he kicked off his shoes and flipped on the living room light.

There was a man standing in the middle of his empty living room looking vaguely horrified. He was around Jimin’s age with dark hair, a bit of a baby face, some piercings, and a baggy hoodie. Jimin’s single box of Fruit Loops was clenched in one hand.

“Do you seriously live here?” he said, gesturing around with the box of cereal.

Jimin looked at his apartment. Yeah, it was sparse, he had to admit, but it kept the rain off his head and held heat in the winter. So what if he didn’t have a bed frame and he slept on two old blankets on the floor. So what if he didn’t own any chairs or tables. The old wooden spool left behind by the electric company worked just fine as a table when tipped on its side. Who needed to buy expensive wooden chairs when a milk crate left out by the dumpster kept his off the floor? There was even a lumpy, worn pillow on top to make it more comfortable. There were no lamps, no microwave, and definitely no TV. Jimin needed to pay tuition and those were all luxuries he couldn’t afford. The fridge worked, but he needed to go grocery shopping and it was never filled completely anyway.

He refused to feel bad about his living situation. Jimin was doing the best he could and that’s all anyone could ask for.

“Yeah, I live here. What’s it to you?” he said. He clutched his backpack.

The guy scratched the back of his head somewhat sheepishly, then tossed Jimin the box of Fruit Loops. “I broke in here to rob you, but , man. You have nothing. Not even just nothing worth stealing. You have nothing.”

“I-“ Jimin protested, but he was cut off.

“You wait here, I’ll be right back.”

With that threat, or promise, the burglar exited through the patio door, which Jimin definitely locked on his way out the day before.

He looked down at the box of cereal, shrugged, and wandered over to the patio door to lock it. After snagging his backpack, he settled into bed. A few hours of sleep, some food, and he’d definitely kill those mid-terms. Jimin munched on handfuls of cereal, reviewed his notes, and drifted off to sleep in his jeans and jacket having put his late-night visitor completely out of his mind.

--

The morning sun roused Jimin as it usually did, by slipping through the crooked blinds and stabbing him in the eyes around 6:30 in the morning. This particular morning it was accompanied by a metallic rattling that had Jimin’s brain kicking into gear more quickly than usual. Before he could rise from his bed of blankets, the patio door swung open and the man from earlier that morning popped through. He flashed a thumbs-up at the startled Jimin, but immediately turned and motioned at someone outside.

Seconds later, amongst huffing and a few grunts, a veritable army streamed through the door carrying a coffee table, a few chairs, a loveseat, and a small TV.

The man directed his friends, who were laughing at each other and whispering about Jimin’s apartment, where to place the furniture. One of them even plugged the TV into the wall and turned it on to make sure it worked. There were even fresh double A batteries in the remote.

Once everything was placed to the man’s satisfaction, the crew streamed out, offering Jimin finger guns, winks, and thumbs-up.

When the apartment fell quiet again, the man scratched at the back of his head, spinning in place to check the placement of what had to be an entirely stolen set of living room furniture.

The apartment felt fuller than it ever had before and Jimin would bet his footsteps wouldn’t echo anymore. His mouth watered at the idea of sitting on the couch. The upholstery was green and floral-patterned, and the middle cushion sagged, but he didn’t care a whit. Just sinking into those cushions would be a level of heaven that had so far been beyond him.

“I think I got you a bed, but it might take a few days,” the man said. He shrugged a little.

Jimin wasn’t ashamed of his living situation. He was a hard worker who made the best of what he was given and made up the rest with tenacity and elbow grease. And in that spirit, he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask where the furniture came from.

“Thanks,” is what he said. Rising from bed, he slowly approached his criminal benefactor. “I’m Jimin, a poor college student.” He held out his hand.

The man reached out and gave his hand a firm shake. “I’m Jungkook. I’m a…freelancer.”

Jimin smiled.

Jungkook smiled.

It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.