[ The Potential of Perhaps ]

Part Two

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Week Four

***Bian’s POV***

Taehyung grinned as she readied her stance, and leant against the tree he was standing next to, as if he was oblivious to the duel that was to take place.  She began to advance, running through in her head the events that had lead up to this encounter.  Namjoon claiming that she would better learn if taught by the rest of them…  Seokjin arguing and saying that he could do it perfectly fine…  Taehyung asking if he could have a session with her the next day…  Seokjin telling him to shut his trap…  Namjoon getting the final word…  Seokjin fuming…

“I don’t fight much.”  She snapped back to the present, looking up at the content face of Kim Taehyung; she knew by now their full names and age rankings, as well as societal rankings when pitted against each other.  Kim Taehyung was ranked lowest, and third youngest; she could only guess that the reason for his low standing had to do with his habit of running his mouth endlessly.  But Seokjin had layered upon her his opinion in the matter and in his eyes, Taehyung was placed at fourth most capable, under Namjoon, of course, himself, and Yoongi.

So Bian made certain to watch her step around the boy, finding his light-hearted casualness unnerving at times.  But even as she moved forward to take the first swing, he crossed his arms and grinned wider.

“I wasn’t talking about you that morning,” he blurted, causing her to pause.  “That first morning, when I leaned over to Jungkookie, I wasn’t talking about you.”  She remembered the incident, and recounted feeling cheated out of the youngest boy’s attention as he didn’t even raise an eyebrow at her after Taehyung had spoken, presumably about her.

“Yes you were; you grinned at me and told him something; how were you not talking about me?”  He blinked lazily.

“Conceited much?”

“Shut it.”

“I told him that his hair looked like a rat’s nest, that’s it; nothing about you.  I just figured that it would be a nice conversation starter later.”  She frowned slightly.

“Jungkook’s hair is a conversation starter?” she asked incredulously, giving the man in front of her a disbelieving look.  Taehyung clucked his tongue.

“No, but your assumptions are; didn’t Jiminy warn you about such things?” he scolded, smiling a smirk that was border-line amused.  Bian swallowed, thinking about the short, feisty member of BTS and his split personalities, forever regretting her words that first night.

“I’m sure you’ve made assumptions before too,” she said, looking for purchase on the smooth cliff that was their conversation.  But she was answered with a chuckle.

“I’ve made a few, though none of them have ever ended well; I tend to stay away from them.  Assumptions are best left in the imagination, where they’re conceived, lest they tint your world in a false hue.”  His words rang a bell in her head, and she remembered reading about such a quote in a book she used to like.  It was written by some monk, and was about his experiences travelling the waves of thought.

“Edmond Reed…”  Her voice trailed off as her uncertainty grew, but his eyes lit up.

“Aw, yes indeed.  Edmond Reed and his lovely collection of intriguing ideas; I personally liked the bits about human processes and thought patterns.  I find the human mind and behavior very much interesting.”  His smile was genuine and she found herself relaxed at the thought of another somewhat “intellectual” being close at hand.

“I’ve read nearly all of his books; can I assume you’ve read them too?”

Taehyung raised an eyebrow along with a corner of his lips.  “Weren’t we just discussing the dangers of assumptions?”  She felt her cheeks flush with the embarrassment; how could she be so careless when talking to the chatterbox…  “Understandably, I’ve only been able to read some of his works; my job doesn’t exactly allow me much time to be out and about, searching for novels.”

Bian nodded, looking away to the clouds overhead, dark and heavy with oncoming rain.  It was only ‘bout midday, and all Taehyung had done with her was talk; that brought her back around to their duel, and she turned to face him square on.

“You still owe me a proper fight, Kim,” she announced, locking her body into the stance that Seokjin had nearly beaten into her, with one fist in front of the other and off to the side slightly, ready to defend at all costs.  Her arms covered her chest, and she felt ready to defend against the so-called fourth greatest assassin, or so Seokjin claimed.  But he appeared as uninterested in fighting as he did before.

“I told you, I don’t fight often; I’m probably rusty.”  Bian said nothing and stepped forward, still a good deal away from the light-haired boy.  “Really, don’t hit me, nothing good will come from it.”  She snorted.

“Isn’t that an assumption?”  He smirked.

“Not at all; I know that you won’t even be allowed the chance to take a swing.”

“You can’t possibly know that; I’m stronger that I look.”

“Oh, I know that as well; trust me, I’m aware of more than you think.  But I am quite certain of this outcome,” he concluded confidently, already beginning to loop around the tree as she came closer.

“You can’t be that certain, or that cocky, especially if you’re rusty.”

“I don’t need to be a polished blade, my mind is working just fine, thank you.  It has to be, what with my being a psychic.”  There was a moment of silence before his ludicrously random statement made her chuckle, and he perked up at the sound.

“A psychic; you’re more insane that I was originally aware of.”  He looked like he was waiting for her to say something more, and was rewarded with a second sentence laced with disbelief.  “Psychics don’t exist; maybe intelligent people can predict an outcome through clever guessing, but trying to turn such a scholarly attribute into a spiritual one, it’s impossibly ridiculous.”  He couldn’t have looked more content with her answer, and even his eyes were smiling.

“If you say so; I do believe that teachers can be taught, and perhaps psychics don’t exist, but then how do you explain that.”  He pointed to something behind her, and she almost resisted the urge to peek at whatever was there, remembering Seokjin’s dirty cheat.  But she did look, and found the biggest storm cloud rolling over its smaller brothers, bringing with it the smell of incoming rain.

The droplets came soon after, dibbling precious, sloppy kisses onto her face and body.  She was glad that she had opted to wear only a short-sleeved shirt, generously donated by Seokjin, and boy shorts, also courtesy of her mentor.  By the time she turned to look at Taehyung’s reaction to the rain, he was gone, a mere lantern among the rays of sunlight.

“Damn that boy,” she cursed, realizing too late that his “psychic” statement had been made only to procrastinate and that the heavy thunderstorm had nothing to do with anything but his escape.  Even though he was older by a month, she swore that the next time she ran into him, she’d beat the sense into his senseless head.

Week Seven

Bian felt a hand run up her back and she shivered, turning to slap away the foreign hand, before standing straight once more.  Park Jimin had walked around her three times, pausing every now and then to stare at a feature that did not exist near her face.

“My eyes are up here,” she seethed, and he briefly glanced up to make eye contact.  There was a hint of playfulness in his actions, and she felt as though he was being so… attentive, to bother her more than satisfy any desires.  He stepped back as she crossed her arms over her chest, smirking lightly.

“Do you know what I specialize in?” he asked, and she felt as if it were a loaded question.

“Feeling up women.”  He grinned.  “The art of disgust.”  He frowned.  “Depriving me of-”

“Actually,” he interrupted, resting a hand on his hip.  “I specialize in none of those; I am, however, the best of the best when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, man on man, one on one.  I don’t believe in all those fancy gadgets and knife tricks Hoseok practices.  Sometimes I think he only twirls his dagger because it looks pretty.”  Despite her keen distaste for the rude and touchy Jimin, she had to hold in the laughs that threatened to seep out.  “If you can’t tell, Hoseok gets distracted a lot.”  That time, she did giggle, bringing an honest grin to his face.

“Seokjin tells me I have the worst defensive position he’s seen in his entire existence,” she informed her newest instructor, and he nodded.

“I’ve seen you fight,” he said, “and he’s not wrong.  You focus too much on guarding your chest-”  She gave him a pointed glare.  “I meant that in the most professional way, Bian.”

“It’s Bian noona; I’m older than you, Park.”  He sighed, running a hand down his face.

“But noona implies that we’re close; Namjoon hyung forced me to instruct you,” he complained.  “He must’ve seen the way you fight too!”  She did not take kindly to his joke and raised her fists, trying to ignore the fact that she did seem very chest and neck oriented, now that he mentioned it.  But Jimin didn’t even try to ready himself, and must’ve found her stance to be hilarious, because he began to laugh.

“You expect to take me down with those fists?” he asked incredulously, advancing towards her slowly, completely at ease with the spark of anger in her eyes.

“Hold your arms up more.”  He cupped her elbows and lifted them an inch or two.

“Twist your fists so that your thumbs are pointing towards each other.”  He grabbed her hands and turned them accordingly.

“Make sure your knees aren’t locked.”  She made sure to bend her legs a little before he got down to do it for her.

“That’s better, but you need to feel at ease,” he continued, circling around to inspect her tensed muscles.  “You need to relax your body.”  She rolled her eyes.

“That’s difficult to do when you’re breathing down my neck.”  There was a second of silence and peace before a presence closed in on her and pressed against her back.

“Like this,” he breathed, blowing his warm breath down the back of her top.  She shrieked and jumped away, swinging a hand behind her to ward him off.  What she wasn’t expecting, though, was for her arm to actually find purchase.

“Ow!” he hissed as her nails swiped across his cheek, and she instantly turned to apologize.  He was clutching a series of scratches that ran from his ear to his nose, glaring at her like looks could kill.  Perhaps they could though, because she could feel a hint of guilt creep into her system.  “What was that for?” he growled, shifting from the cutesy Jimin into the irritated one; the one that still scared her.

“I’m sorry,” she insisted, rushing forward to inspect the damage.  “That was unintentional; please forgive me.”  Without thinking of it, she bowed deep to express her sorrow, accidently flashing him with her low-cut shirt.  He was a bright red when she stood up, and she clutched at the loose fabric as if by doing so, she could reverse her actions.  “Oh, I-I’m sorry…  I-I”

“It’s ok,” he stuttered, looking at the ground and anywhere but her.  If anything, that little exchange informed her that he was merely into bothering her and not getting into her pants.  Nonetheless, it didn’t stop him from being even touchier than before, using every mistake she made to personally shift her position.

“Remember,” he began.  “If your contender can gape at your , you’re facing the wrong way.”  He slapped her rear end, causing her to gasp and whirl around.  But that must’ve been what he wanted because he grinned.  “But if he can admire your bust, you’re golden.”  Before he could try anything that would’ve resulted in another slap to the face, a distinctly furious voice boomed across the entire compound.

“Park Jimin!” the man shouted, causing the object of his rage to flinch.  Bian herself cowered at the sight of Seokjin, stalking across the street to confront the shorter man, eyebrows pinched and lips set tightly to display his irritation.  “What in the name of God himself, are you doing?”  Somehow, it didn’t sound like a question.

“I, was just… messing around…” he mumbled, head bowed in the presence of his hyung.  Aside from Namjoon’s authority as leader, Seokjin held the next higher level of respect as he was both the eldest and the most experienced all-around.  While the rest held positions of power because of their skill in a particular subject, he maintained order by being adept in all areas, not surpassing them, but gaining a foothold in their specialties.  He had the power to command everyone save Namjoon into doing his bidding, certainly earning their respect.

And at the moment, he looked utterly infuriated.

“I believe that this little lesson has come to a close,” he seethed, outwardly trying to contain his anger.  Jimin scurried off, as he often was forced to do, being a rebellious youngster whose ambitious nature surpassed even Jungkook’s.  Bian watched as he left, not wishing to face her instructor.  But his intentional cough forced her head to turn in his direction.

Much to her shock, his eyes were soft and body language gentle, his hand coming out to cup her cheek gingerly, like she would break.  She had to admit that in the past week he had been going easier and easier on her, letting her win sometimes.  The bruised cut on her eyebrow from the day before must’ve have opened up despite the stitches he had sewed her with, because his thumb brushed the skin next to her eye and came away bloody.

She could still feel the sensation of his fingertips brushing her face lightly, the needle stinging sharply but being crowded out by the chills and shivers that coursed through her system as his eyes focused on her wound.

But she had dismissed those feelings as soon as they surfaced, reminding herself of the task at hand, the overall mission she had for herself.  The one she never spoke of with Taehyung when he asked, or discussed with Seokjin, even when he demanded to be made aware of his pupil’s future plans.  She never could, and never would:  They wouldn’t understand, wouldn’t take kindly to her intentions and their consequences.

So she leant away from his touch, paying no attention to her body’s primitive desire to be caressed further.  “I’m fine; I’ll just get Hoseok to stitch me up.”

“Let me do it,” he insisted, but she refused.

“The stitches you put in are now hanging down my face; I’m having Hoseok do it this time.”  The words sounded harsher than she wanted them to, but just as harsh as she needed them to.  Getting attached meant the end to her mission, and that couldn’t come to pass.

Seokjin spared a glance at the bloody side of her face, before locking eyes with her, his chestnut orbs gripping her light brown ones, seemingly pulling her closer and closer…

But she turned away, giving him the cold shoulder, and hurried back to the house, where she knew Hoseok would be waiting for Taehyung to return with another batch of his pocket explosions, hand-made to fit his M.O.  Because the greatest part about Kim Taehyung, was not the fact that he was an intellectual master mind-manipulator that got off on tricking Bian into spilling everything about herself, but that fact that he was an intellectual master mind-manipulator that got off on tricking Bian into spilling everything about herself and had a great grasp of chemicals, loving spending his days making handfuls of the tiny bombs Hoseok loved to use the most.

Why he only encouraged the older boy’s destructive tendencies, she had not a clue.

So she had Hoseok patch her up, thanking god for his motherly attitude when Taehyung showed up halfway through the thread with his newest model, and he chose to finish her before acknowledging the younger’s presence (having a needle and thread freely hanging before her eyes, and knowing that it looped back around thr