Jimin (Literally Magic)

[Sent: May 23 4:52PM]

Hey

 

Jimin (Literally Magic)

[Sent: May 23 4:53PM]

Are you free tomorrow? We

should meet up.

 

Jimin (Literally Magic)

[Sent: May 23 4:53PM]

Sorry. I know it’s been more

than a week

 

[Sent: May 23 5:01PM]

Hey, no worries. And yeah,

totally. Totally free tomorrow

 

[Sent: May 23 5:06PM]

Except for my Lit class, but

that’s at like...the crack of

dawn

 

[Sent: May 23 5:06PM]

You don’t wanna meet at

the crack of dawn, right?

 

Namjoon sets his phone down on top of his notes, leg jiggling under the table. He wasn’t actually sure he hadn’t been dreaming that day. Until now. Unless he’s still dreaming? Namjoon glances around the library packed with other students and thinks it’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. He’s had way more boring dreams.

 

“Yoongi.” Namjoon picks up his pen and stares blankly at the textbook in front of him, eyes creeping towards his phone every five seconds. Yoongi grunts in acknowledgement. “You, um...you remember that kid on the bus I told you about?”

 

“Fox boy,” Yoongi intones, drawing out the ‘y’. “If I recall correctly, I also warned you about the dangers of taking hallucinogens on public transit.”

 

Frowning, Namjoon looks over at his friend.

 

“I wasn’t hallucinating.”

 

“Are you sure?” Yoongi asks. He hasn’t even lifted his head--pencil moving across the page of his notebook without pause. Namjoon still has no idea how he does that.

 

“Yeah, he just texted me.”

 

“The kid or the fox?”

 

He rolls his eyes and kicks Yoongi’s foot. “The kid.”

 

Yoongi finally stops writing long enough to make eye-contact, expressionless save for that soft glimmer of amusement Namjoon knows is always there even when he can’t always see it.

 

“You know I’m just ing with you, right?” Yoongi asks, tone flat.

 

Namjoon slumps back in his chair, pen tapping rhythmically against thin paper. He shrugs.

 

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell.”

 

“Moron,” Yoongi sighs, but the corner of his lips pulls into a smirk when he starts writing again. He wordlessly gives Namjoon’s foot a return kick and Namjoon smiles.

 

Then the smile falls right off his face, because he remembers what they were just talking about and the tapping picks up speed. He tears a hand through his hair, left leg resuming its bouncing.

 

“Anyway, he-- Jimin, he wants to meet up tomorrow.”

 

“The most adorable human you’ve ever seen,” Yoongi reminds him.

 

A nervous breath of laughter bleeds out of his mouth, cheeks already warming at the memory. Namjoon nods.

 

“Yeah, that one.”

 

“I’m surprised you haven’t started whining yet.”

 

“Gimme a few minutes, I’m still processing,” he murmurs, and then Yoongi laughs, too.

 

Except his phone lights up before he can even think about having a meltdown. Namjoon’s stomach clenches and swoops and he grabs it off the table, almost dropping it in his haste to swipe the screen.

 

Jimin (Literally Magic)

[Sent: May 23 5:14PM]

Do you know the cafe

across from the student

center?

 

[Sent: May 23 5:15PM]

If by “know” you mean

practically live there

 

Jimin (Literally Magic)

[Sent: May 23 5:15PM]

I’ll be there around 4, is that

okay?

 

[Sent: May 23 5:16PM]

Cool, yeah. See you then

:)

 

Jimin (Literally Magic)

[Sent: May 23 5:16PM]

:)

 

It takes a moment of staring at Jimin’s smiley face emoticon for Namjoon to realize that the reason Jimin knows the student center is because he is one. He drops his phone. Yoongi doesn’t even flinch.

 

“Holy .”

 

All hopes of productivity promptly wither and die as Namjoon feels the world around him tilt strangely. It’s not really tilting. He knows that’s physically impossible. But if it could tilt, he imagines that now would the perfect time for it to do so.

 

“What?” Yoongi asks, completely unconcerned as he continues scribbling. Namjoon’s not surprised. He has epiphanies daily, exclaiming “holy ” is kind of like breathing.

 

“He goes here,” Namjoon answers, and even though the words just came out of his mouth, he’s still having trouble believing them.

 

“As in enrolled?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Sparing him a glance, Yoongi lets out a quiet, thoughtful huff. “Small world.”

 

“Too small,” he adds, mind practically fizzing.

 

“Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing? You’re gonna see him tomorrow, anyway.”

 

“I guess.” Namjoon sighs. “Maybe,” he amends. And then, “I don’t know, man.” The panic is definitely starting to set in. “It was different when it was an accident. This is on purpose.”

 

“Most things happen on purpose, ,” Yoongi retorts.

 

Namjoon shakes his head and falls forward onto the table. “He made a tiny ing galaxy in the palm of his hand,” he stresses way louder than he should have, wincing when it earns him a few glares, but he’s dedicated to making his point, because he really doesn’t think Yoongi gets it. “And I could see it in his eyes. It didn’t just come out of nowhere, it came from him.”

 

Yoongi gives him a dead-eyed stare.

 

“You and your disgusting crush need to sit the down.”

 

“I’m already sitting down,” Namjoon points out.

 

Dropping his pencil, Yoongi slides both hands over his face and groans. “Did you know that I think about hitting you at least once every thirty seconds?” he asks through graphite smeared fingers.

 

“Yeah, but you haven’t.”

 

“And I regret it every single time,” Yoongi laments.

 

A grin tugs at Namjoon’s mouth.

 

“Okay, so he’s made of stardust and unicorn farts, so what? He’s still just a kid, right?” Yoongi continues, crossing his arms. He’s giving Namjoon his undivided attention, which means the joking has been temporarily set aside. “Don’t do that thing where you put him on a pedestal, Joon. Not until he deserves it.”

 

Namjoon always knows Yoongi’s being his sincerest self when the nicknames come out. He loves it as much as it makes his heart hurt.

 

“Pretty sure he deserves it,” Namjoon answers despite this. Yoongi snorts.

 

“You spent twenty minutes with him.”

 

“Believe me, that was enough.” He slumps back in the chair again, playing with one of the buttons on his shirt while his mind keeps fizzing--keeps repeating the weird wonderfulness of that afternoon and how Jimin seemed to come alive when Namjoon asked what else he could do. “I don’t know how to describe it, it’s--” Namjoon chews on his lip, thinking. There probably aren’t words for this, not really. He tries anyway. “It’s just a feeling. Y’know? Something about him already felt familiar even though we’d never met before.”

 

Yoongi ditches the sincerity in favor of squinting so hard his eyes disappear.

 

“If you tell me it was destiny, I’m walking out.”

 

Namjoon scoffs. “You’re not walking out, I’m buying you dinner.”

 

“Damnit,” Yoongi curses, then picks up one of his binders and reaches across the table to whack him upside the head.

 

“Ow! .”

 

“Just shut up for the next half hour and we’ll go. I know it’s a lot to ask.”

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Namjoon whines, rubbing his head and scowling at Yoongi’s skeptically quirked eyebrow. “I can totally shut up.”

 

“Prove it.”

 

He presses his lips flat; mimes pulling a zipper closed. Yoongi smiles. It’s a long-suffering smile and one that Namjoon categorized years ago. Because Yoongi has a smile for everything, even though most people don’t bother to look past the initial layers of small, grumpy .

 

Letting his head loll back, he occupies himself by staring at the tin ceiling tiles and listening to the collective scratch of pencils on paper. He thinks about layers. Layers of speech, emotion, personality, clothes, meaning. Namjoon always wonders why it’s so hard to figure out if someone’s being real or if he’s just dealing with another one of their overlays. Of course, underneath the pretense is just more layers. He jiggles his leg and taps his pen against his thigh and remembers the way Jimin had smiled at him. Shy, but so so bright, like all that starlight was trying to burst free through every crack it could find.

 

Was that real? Namjoon wants to say yes. Wants to peel back Jimin’s timidity and see how vast that galaxy really is.

 

His mind fizzes. Pencils scratch. Yoongi sighs and Namjoon thinks about layers. Sound and color and the depth of Jimin’s dark brown eyes. Connection and coincidence. People. Magic, the world, and the universe.

 

Namjoon feels a nudge against his foot and he jerks upright. Yoongi’s already packed, bag slung across his chest.

 

“Sorry.”

 

He starts stuffing his books into his backpack. “What for?”

 

“You were a million miles away, I felt bad bringing you back,” Yoongi replies. Namjoon grins.

 

“It’s cool.”

 

And with a simple nod, Yoongi lets it go, because simple is what they’ve always been. Because there are layers, yeah, but they’re not complicated. Namjoon’s still grinning when he stands and they make their way out of the library. He wonders why there’s so much comfort in simplicity.

 

“Can we go to that diner by the dorms? I want pancakes.”

 

“I can do pancakes.”

 

Yoongi’s lips twitch as he pushes through the front doors. “Sweet.”

 

“But you’re probably gonna have to make ramen for the rest of the week,” Namjoon adds, tracking the movement of his feet on the sun-dappled concrete. “Because I didn’t get enough hours at the bookstore and I won’t get my next paych--”

 

A solid force interrupts his stream of words when it slams into him, almost knocking him over. Namjoon’s hands immediately reach out to steady himself and meet warm shoulders.

 

“Oh my god, I’m sorry. Are you okay? I wasn’t…looking...” the solid force trails off.

 

Namjoon blinks--and then grins so hard he can actually tell how far the dimples are worming holes into his cheeks.

 

“It’s you,” he says, shocked and yet not at the same time. More delighted than shocked, really. Joyful, even. Namjoon would definitely call the wobbly, nervous feeling in his stomach joyful instead of the precursor to nausea.

 

“Me,” Jimin nearly squeaks, eyes wide.

 

His hand is clutching Namjoon’s elbow and they’re kind of stuck in the middle of a hug that hasn’t happened yet. He thinks about how nice it would be if it did happen. How nice it is that Jimin is literally in arms’ reach, looking adorably flustered and windswept with his dark hair falling every which way. The tingling is nice too, radiating up from his fingers, spreading along his arm, rippling over his scalp. It’s not as intense as the first time they shook hands, but he can still feel the energy coming off of Jimin in waves.

 

Jimin’s mouth opens and closes. Namjoon breathes in. Maybe he was wrong about the nausea.

 

“What the , is it snowing?” Yoongi asks to his right, effectively destroying the moment.

 

He didn’t even notice the little flakes drifting past his vision.

 

“.” Jimin winces and steps back, blushing. “Sorry. It happens sometimes. When I’m nervous.”

 

Namjoon studies the orange-blue sky dotted with white, tingly fingers flexing at his sides. If he was magic, he’d probably cause earthquakes every time he sneezed. The thought makes him chuckle.

 

“Could be worse, right?” he smiles.

 

“You should see what happens when I really panic,” Jimin huffs, shoving his hair away from his pink face. Namjoon forces himself not to stare.

 

Yoongi, on the other hand, just squints at the snowflakes like he’s never seen snow before in his life and lets each one melt in his outstretched palm. Around them, other students peer up at the cloudless sky, totally dumbfounded. And then it just stops--a few stray flakes sailing through the air and disappearing once they hit the pavement. Jimin looks like he wants said pavement to swallow him whole.

 

“Um, this is Yoongi, by the way,” Namjoon offers.

 

Flashing a brief smile, Jimin waves awkwardly. “Jimin.”

 

“Yeah, I figured that one out,” Yoongi drawls. He glances back and forth between the two of them, hands slipping into his pockets. Namjoon can see gears turning and that glimmer of dry amusement. “So, I’m gonna take a raincheck on dinner. I just remembered I have to go home and feed my pet rock,” he murmurs thoughtfully, nodding. “But you kids have fun now.”

 

In the quickest escape, possibly ever, Yoongi spins on his heel and takes off across the quad before Namjoon can protest.

 

“Pet rock?” Jimin asks.

 

“He’s not very subtle,” Namjoon answers. Jimin coughs out a laugh and he has to chew on his lip to keep from beaming like a lunatic.

 

Despite his best friend abandoning him, he’s still glad to be standing here in mildly uncomfortable silence with Jimin. Because the dying sunlight is gorgeous, the weather absurdly pleasant, and Namjoon enjoys happy accidents almost more than anything else. Anything else might be giving happy accidents a run for its money, though, if Jimin doesn’t stop stealing glances at him every few seconds.

 

He catches Jimin’s eye and they both bubble with laughter again. Then Namjoon realizes that something small and furry is missing from this scenario.

 

“Where’s Taehyung?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Jimin shrugs, playing with one of the straps on his bag. “He said something about official business, but I think he just ditched me to go hang out with his boyfriend.”

 

Namjoon’s eyebrow arches sharply. “Your fox has a boyfriend.”

 

“He’s not--” Jimin giggles and lifts a hand to cover his mouth. Namjoon dies a little inside.

 

“He’s a shapeshifter,” Jimin continues. “Or a demon, technically, but that’s kind of misleading.” He smiles and regards Namjoon curiously. “You don’t know anything about magic, do you?”

 

Crossing his arms, he shakes his head. “Not really my area.”

 

“What is?”

 

“Poetry.”

 

Jimin snorts. “Of course it is.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Namjoon frowns.

 

“Nothing.” Jimin sighs. “Ignore me.”

 

“That’s kind of impossible,” he blurts, rubbing at the back of his neck, attention purposely directed elsewhere even though he can still see Jimin’s surprise from the corner of his eye. He breathes out another unsteady laugh and the words keep tumbling. “You know, I--” he falters. “I noticed you first.”

 

“What?”

 

“On the bus,” Namjoon explains. He tells himself he’s not stupid. “I saw you before the fur.”

 

Jimin’s face goes pink a second time. “Oh.”

 

He might not be stupid, but he’s actually kind of embarrassed. Flirting has never been his area, either. Do facts count as flirting? He doesn’t know. What he does know, is that he thinks Jimin is the most adorable human he’s ever seen, and although his heart is beating a mile a minute, he also knows an opportunity when it presents itself. He supposes he has Yoongi to thank for that.

 

Bravely, Namjoon makes eye-contact, grinning because he does that when he’s nervous and isn’t sure what else to do with his face. Jimin illuminates a little bit in response. His heart beats faster.

 

“So, um, I know we were supposed to meet up tomorrow and stuff, but if you’re not like, busy or whatever, maybe you wanna come with me?” he asks, skin prickling. “Dinner, I mean. Since I got ditched for a non-existent pet rock.”

 

The sound of Jimin’s tinkling amusement really doesn’t help in the staying alive department.

 

“I should be studying for a Biology test,” Jimin replies and then his smile grows, sweetly snuffing out Namjoon’s disappointment. “But I think it can wait.”

 

Relief and terror flood him simultaneously.

 

“Cool,” Namjoon exhales, pushing jittery fingers through his hair because this is really happening. “You like cheap diner food?”

 

“I love cheap diner food.”

 

His lips spasm. Jimin looks less afraid and more eager, than anything, and the rhythm of Namjoon’s heart defies description.

 

“I think you and I are gonna get along just fine,” he laugh-mumbles, convincing his legs to start moving.

 

They cut across the quad together, the mutual uncomfortable silence only marginally less uncomfortable. He thinks of something to say instead of thinking about the fact that this is kind of a date. Isn’t it? It kind of is. Does that make things weird? Namjoon steals some glances himself, but all he sees is Jimin radiating quietly, a soft smile adorning his face. The face that he hasn’t been able to stop reconstructing from memory since they met on the bus more than a week ago.

 

Which reminds him...

 

“Oh, hey, I almost forgot. Did you guys ever figure out what was up with me being able to see Taehyung?”

 

Jimin clears his throat. “Not yet.”

 

Namjoon lets that marinate for a few seconds. Something doesn’t add up.

 

“Then why’d you wanna meet tomorrow?” he asks.

 

“I thought maybe we could hang out?” Jimin asks back, uncertainty in the knot between his brows.

 

“Oh.” Namjoon knows this feeling. It’s the proverbial rug being ripped out from under him. “Do you-- do you still wanna hang out?”

 

They’re waiting at a stoplight, arms barely grazing, that electric energy making goosebumps trail over his skin. Namjoon swears he’s either going to crawl out of his own damn body or grab Jimin’s hand. But then Jimin is smiling up at him again.

 

“I do.”

 

“Okay.”

 

The light changes before he can think of anything better to say, the flow of pedestrians herding them across the street. The diner’s a block up. Namjoon’s mind is fizzing--magic, the world, the universe, Jimin. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk and curls his fingers around Jimin’s arm, a jolt traveling up through the bone on contact.

 

“Actually, wait. I have a request?”

 

Jimin raises his eyebrows.

 

“Can you do that thing again?” Namjoon asks, hoping this isn’t a line he’s trampling. “On the bus, where you created the galaxy.”

 

Laughing louder than Namjoon has ever heard him laugh, Jimin nods, shoulders relaxing.

 

“Yeah.”

 

He watches, charmed by everything Jimin does. It was the same then and it’s the same now and when Jimin takes Namjoon’s free hand, his breath sticks in his throat.

 

“What--” he chokes on the word. “What are you doing?”

 

“We should probably move somewhere that isn’t on the corner of a major intersection.” Jimin tugs him away from the lines of evening traffic, that starlight twinkling behind his brown eyes, begging to come out and play.

 

They find a narrow alley just past the diner, sandwiched between a hardware store and a closed bakery. It smells like flour. Jimin huddles close and flashes him a brief smirk.

 

“Just keep your hand here.”

 

At this point, Namjoon feels like a conduit attached to the sun--more energy passing through him than he ever thought possible. He even senses when Jimin reaches down into himself to access his magic, drawing it up to the surface. Namjoon still can’t breathe. The rest of the world has completely fallen away. It’s just this. Jimin swirling his finger in the air above Namjoon’s palm, his other hand so very warm against Namjoon’s knuckles, cradling it in place.

 

Gradually, pinpricks of light begin to form, some brighter than others. Color, ribbons of nebulous smoke, teeny tiny planets. All of it from the brilliance of Jimin’s imagination. Namjoon’s heart legitimately hurts as the galaxy takes shape before him. As it hovers there in the palm of his own ing hand. Jesus.

 

“You’re--” he swallows, forcing out a breathless huff of awe. “You’re seriously amazing. I just, um-- wanted to say that, because I didn’t get the chance to before.”

 

“Being able to do this doesn’t really make me special,” Jimin murmurs, threading another ribbon of color into the others.

 

Namjoon almost scoffs, because that’s bull. He may not know jack about magic--he may not really know anything, actually--but he’s never seen anything more incredible than this. Never felt anything more incredible than this, and that should freak him out a little bit. Except it doesn’t.

 

“I think it is,” Namjoon insists, hoping there’s enough conviction in his voice. Enough literal wonder to convince him. “I mean, you are,” he corrects himself. Because it’s true. They met just over a week ago, but that will always be true even if this is the last time they ever see each other. That’s just fact, with or without Namjoon’s input.

 

Jimin looks up at him. He finds infinity in the shy warmth of his eyes.

 

“Thank you.”

 

Namjon gives him a lopsided smile. “You’re welcome.”

 

The galaxy shimmers and glows, its gentle magic passing through him. It tingles pleasantly. Like a sugar rush or endorphins or the feeling he gets when he loves the way two words sound strung together. The feeling he gets whenever Jimin’s skin meets his. Namjoon thinks that isn’t a coincidence.

 

“What do you say to splitting a stack of strawberry pancakes?”

 

“I say you must be psychic,” Jimin smiles and ducks his head. “Strawberry pancakes are my favorite.”

 

Namjoon’s stomach loops in on itself. He laughs and the galaxy pulses; bright, alive. Definitely not coincidence.

 

In fact, he might even call it destiny.