They say that a person blinks about sixteen to twenty times per minute. For an hour, it’s 1200, and for a day? It would be thousands by then. 

How many times is it, then, for people who fall in love at first sight? 

Ten times? Five? One? Impossible. 

Jimin thinks as her lips curl into a pout, her yellow boots slapping against the puddles; rain pelts down the rough surface of the pavement. She raises her head just in time as a red car to zoom past her. The walk signal is red; she jumps on puddles a little longer. 

How old are people when they start falling in love, anyway? 

Jimin is only sixteen and she’s never believed in love, never have fallen – never have felt it anyways (well, beside from her mom and dad, probably, but from other non-relative people who weren’t her friends? She wasn’t so sure) she tilts her head and comes up with no names. 

Aren’t girls her age supposed to have those prince charmings whisking girls off of their feet and charming their hearts away? Where was – is her prince charming? 

She stops walking, feeling unfair all of the sudden. 

Jimin wants to fall in love, wants to feel that warm feeling girls in her class always gushed about; that butterfly effect, that fit of giggles just waiting to burst out from their throats as soon as their princes passed by and sent a smile their way.

A gust of air suddenly passes by her, wrinkling her clothes and tangling her long red hair (although it was already slightly tangled to begin with, only slightly!), she couldn’t help herself but to scowl at the dull, grey sky once she looks up, only to be stopped midway by the appearance of a blond haired boy in front of her, interested eyes squinting at her form.

And then she blinks. 

How many times does a person blink on average again? 

How many times do they blink before they fall in love? 

She blinks twice. 

How old do they even start falling in love? 

Falling in love at first sight, at that? 

She blinks thrice before the man (who’d stopped her train of thoughts) grins at her and all she sees is a bright set of dark eyes and teeth and gums, and a very handsome nose, slightly crooked but complimented an equally handsome set of lips; perfection. 

Three times. 

Her lips part slightly.

Jimin blinks three times, and that was all she could think of (that and this handsome boy in front of her). 

“Hello?” The boy’s voice sounds unsure, the roughness of his voice sending a chill down Jimin’s spine, and his eyes looks at her cautiously, as if approaching an unfamiliar puppy that would scurry away once it feels threatened. 

“Hi,” she squeaks, fingers awkwardly hanging in the air like an ignored wave, and then she doesn’t know what to do so she says the first thing that comes in her mind, “I’m Park Jimin, and it took me three times!” 

Silence. If only she could slap herself right now, she would, ugh, why.

“Um?” He chuckles unsurely, tilting his head to the side, and wow is that adorable or what. “The name’s Min Yoongi, and?”

She blushes, quickly averting her gaze, her hand dropping down to her side, “three times, I mean. It took me three times.” God, what am I saying? She mentally scolds herself for embarrassing herself in front of the boy. She hopes she doesn’t say anything more stupid than that. 

The boy – Min Yoongi – laughs again, this time he throws his head back and lets out a very light laugh, the kind that gives her – what, is this how it actually feels like – the butterfly effect.

She decides, then, that she loves the bell-like sound of his laugh very much. 

“I know, three times, but what does that mean?” He finally asks; voice now laced with interest and light humor. 

“It took me three blinks to fall in love,” she mutters, then it hits her; her eyes widen as she stares at the taken-aback face of Yoongi, she stutters, “I – I mean, because I was thinking of how many blinks it would take for a person to fall in love at first sight and then you showed up and I saw you and then I counted how many blinks it took me to fall in lo – wait, what am I saying, ugh,” she covers her face with her gloved hands. Even with her gloves on, she could feel the heat emanating from her cheeks, she groans. 

Then Yoongi laughs, again. And this time, it’s longer – much longer – and it has much more butterflies in it, like every breath, every laugh and every shake of his chest summon butterflies in her stomach. He stops, slowly like he was taking his time, and looks at her with his beautiful brown eyes and everything stops – something that those girls forgot to add, that world-stopping moment where the prince makes you feel like you’re the only one he sees and you’re the only one who matters (because that’s what she feels like right now with his eyes on her). 

“Three times, huh?” he jokes, there is a poorly disguised humor in his tone and his eyes are sparkling (okay, make that three sets of beautiful sparkling features on his face). 

She only nods, feeling the burn of her cheeks more and more. “yeah.” 

“Honestly, I don’t believe in love at first sight but tell me,” Yoongi does something with his lips and it looks like a (holy crap, it’s so adorable) half smirk and Jimin decides against smacking him with her bag for making her feel like an idiot believing in love at first sight, “What is this theory of yours?” he prods, a slight dimple on his chin slightly showing (not that she was staring, no). She wonders how many dimples does he have hidden, if he did have more than one. 

“Well,” she mumbles, and then gains this kind of confidence she doesn’t know she had before but it makes her look straight into his eyes, “Well, I still don’t have your age so I can’t actually make one right now.” 

And maybe it is just so cold, but she thinks she sees a slight tinge of pink on his cheeks and her insides swell with pride, just a little bit. 

“Oh really,” Yoongi grins, all gums once more, raising an eyebrow at her and she only giggles; (oh lord, her prince hasn’t even left and she already feels tightening due to the giggles that just want to be released) “I’m eighteen. How about that?” 

“Eighteen, huh,” she pretends to calculate, tilting her head to the side and her hair cascades down her shoulder, “A two-year difference, but I think that’s good, no – that’s better, statistics of mine says.” 

She faces him with a grin identical to his and it only takes three seconds (maybe less, maybe more, it doesn’t matter, really) and they burst out laughing, her grip tightening around her bag’s strap and his scarf muffling his voice. 

“Okay,” he finally says, pausing to look at her – with the same sparkle, same glint of mischievousness in his eyes, “Three times it is then.” 

“Mhm,” she hums, not knowing what to do (but to stare back, shamelessly so). 

“Do you want me to tell you how many times it was for me, then, as a fair trade?” he leans close to her, his breath warm and minty in her face.

“Huh?” Her eyes widen at the sudden intrusion of private space, but she doesn’t mind, honestly. 

“Three times, exactly,” he whispers, raising up three fingers to the side of his face, “three seconds to spot you among the crowd in your cute yellow boots,” he makes it a point to glance at her feet with a brow raised, and Jimin inwardly gurgles, “three seconds to think of approaching you, and exactly three blinks to maybe, but I’m not saying I believe it in it but maybe, fall in love in first sight with you, too.” 

She doesn’t see it, doesn’t hear it, doesn’t even feel it when the rain falls harder against their clothes and skin and against the pavement, even when raindrops land on her eyelashes and on his nose and cheeks, and the tips of his hair are already spiky because of the rain but it doesn’t really matter, it doesn’t really because she remembers the girls in her class and they were definitely way off with the whole prince charming story they had going on – because it definitely isn’t only the butterflies nor the giggles, it is everything; The world’s rotation, the whole body’s functions, the mind’s signals and the heart’s beating. It’s everything, she decides, when he leans in again and she’s expecting a kiss but he doesn’t do that, nope. 

With the rain falling harder, Yoongi grabs her hand instead, at her surprise, and they run for it, clumsy limbs and damp hair sticking onto foreheads. He’s laughing harder than he’s laughed all day (and God, she can just really listen to that forever) and she feels it through their connected hands, against the feel of her palm and because he’s holding her hand, not that it ever entered her mind to complain, she lets him take him away, although without a white horse but with him holding her, still. 

Three blinks, they decide on later. 

It sometimes might take less, or it might take more (and even forever) but for them, it’s three blinks and three seconds. 

And it’s everything.

(They’re both sick after, because of the rain, and finds that out when they’ve exchanged numbers and everything that needs to be exchanged. She hears his nasally voice through the phone’s speaker and he laughs when she sneezes like a firecracker, and she doesn’t mind because).