Name of bts member: BTS Namjoon
Name of female lead: OC Lee Bi An
Genre: romance
When Namjoon is a new teacher at student Lee Bi An's school and over a series of events, they fall for one another. Its complicated though as no student/teacher relationships are allowed. In the end, happy ending and dating? Maybe after graduation! :)
Others: maybe a scene where he brings her to his other working friends (bts) and they tease/fawn over her.

This is the first request even made on my one-shot booklet, and I feel accomplished.  I hope it's alright, seeing as how I always know how to express my wants in a one-shot, but I have to half-guess on requests.  Thanks iCiere for this Namjoon one (HE'S MY BIAS!!!), and I hope it's to your liking.

 

~A List of Five~

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

Windows down.

Wind whistling.

Where I was didn’t matter anymore.

Because I was flying.

I hollered into the void of midnight and whipped around another corner without care.  My car screeched and the distinct blare of a horn echoed from one of the other sparse vehicles on the road.

I laughed and pressed the pedal down further, pushing my car into eighty miles-per-hour.  It felt so good and the rush pulled my hair into so many tornados that I almost couldn’t see from behind my wild tresses.  But that didn’t matter.

Only the road did, and how much of it I could speed past in a second.

In a millisecond.

A moment.

And it felt so liberating, that I screamed again to the moon, barely hanging by a thread in the expanse of air we called a sky.  The stars had died and the city lights dimmed to nothing, but the moon responded to me in the only way it knew how.

And as its glow brightened and shone a path for me to follow through the cars and the interstates, I threw an arm out the window to catch the wind in my fist, hoping that I could detain it long enough to share the animosity of freedom with my friends and family, who all seemed to have forgotten what liberty felt like anymore.

---

“Ready for day one of senior year?” Jisoo asked, and I barely managed to nod with my head so heavy and my eyes so tired.  Staying up the entire night before had sure taken its toll, but never would it be something to regret.

“Sure,” I mumbled, and my friend didn’t have the energy to pull anything more from me.

“Yah,” she said, and our period one teacher waltzed into the room, sporting a bright yellow sun dress, reminding us that not only the seniors were somehow already done with the academic year.

“Well, hello everybody!” she greeted us, and I realized that it wasn’t a lack of professionalism that lead to her overly cheerful attire, but her attitude.

“Dear god; it’s another one of those ones,” Jisoo hissed, and I almost laughed, had our teacher not scanned her eyes across the entire class and smiled at each and every one, somehow daring us to judge her merriment.  I didn’t have the heart to do anything else but smile back.

And so the class passed, proving to show promise in a lack of homework, but not much else.  Then second period flew by, as did third.  Then fourth.  And fifth.  Sixth.  Then seventh.

By the time eighth rolled in, I was about to fall asleep.  So far only gym hadn’t put me to sleep, and I held no expectations of English either.  Just because the foreign language was easy enough to learn and I happened to excel in it, didn’t mean that the class was bound to be interesting.  The wrong teacher and my captivation in the subject could crumble away.

But the moment Mr. Kim stepped into that room, I knew something was different.  I could feel it in the air; in the whiplash I received from sitting at the front of the room as his tall form sped through the door, past me, and to his desk.

He dropped a sloppy mug on the table and took a moment to straighten his tie out before confronting us, giving the audience a chance to take in his look.  (Bright) Yellow socks, long (black) dress pants (which weren’t too bad), and an obnoxiously loud camo button-down, the likes of which I would’ve doubted existed, had I not seen them in the flesh (or in the fabric).

“Good morning students; I’m Mr. Kim,” he introduced himself in English, and the majority of the class understood his speedy, beginners’ language, the other quarter trying to keep up in order to avoid looking like fools.  I almost fell into the second category, finding that it was surprisingly effortless to get caught up in Mr. Kim’s face, which could easily have passed as a weapon of mass female destruction.

Big lips.  Rounded and yet sloping cheeks and cheekbones.  Deep eyes.  Strong eyebrows.  Subtle nose.  Artificially blonde hair, swept up into a do I couldn’t tear my eyes away from.  Judging from the other stares he was getting, other students couldn’t look away either, for different reasons.

While I gazed on in interest (and slight attraction), I could tell from the whispers and judging finger taps that a large quantity of the population had taken a disinterest in both his presence and chosen apparel.

I oddly liked it, but probably only because he’d been the first teacher all day to make an interesting impression.  Once he started to talk, I’d probably find myself falling into another lethargic state, wanting the already ending day to end faster.

I rested a chin in my palm and watched as he wrote his name on the board in English, the foreign characters almost as familiar as Korean.

“By this point in your English careers,” he began in Korean, sparing us the mental translation, “you’ve willingly chosen to enter the honors system, which means that you’re all here in my class because either you want to be...”  He turned around, set down the chalk and crossed his arms in such an ‘adult’ fashion that I almost managed to ignore his youthful appearance.  “…or you want the extra language credits for college, which is fine by me, seeing as how both groups of students strain for passing grades.”

He was getting better-looking the more I looked, and I was pretty sure I must’ve leaned closer in my observation, because I couldn’t remember sitting on the edge of my seat before.  He caught my eyes and spared me a professional second before continuing onto the rest of the class, reminding me that I had just been ogling a teacher probably twice my age.

Botox could really do a number on anyone, and he was probably a prime example of one of its more fruitful successes.

“I hope we all get along, and you spare me of a disastrous first-year teaching.”  Maybe he was young.  “Seeing as how this is my first time teaching a high school class, or any class for that matter, how about we play a game to get to know each other a little more.”

Such a statement was met with snickers and blatant giggles, some wisps of ‘how old is he, ten?’ coming to the entire room’s attention.  But Mr. Kim either didn’t hear them, or didn’t bother himself with them, because he pointed to a girl sitting front row, left corner.  I was directly on her right.

“You can start by introducing yourself to the class and telling us one fact,” he said, leaning on the whiteboard behind him and staring expectantly at the student he’d chosen.  She reddened in the face for having being called first, then proceeded to answer in the shyest manner attainable.

“My name is-”

“-In English,” Mr. Kim interrupted, and the class quieted, having just grasped the situation and begun to hastily put together their answer.  The poor girl flushed even more and stuttered through her introduction, despite her adequate pronunciation.  “I am K-Kim Hyewon, and…  I…  I like, to, surf.”  Her mumbles barely made their way to even my ears, but our new teacher heard her loud and clear and ‘ahh-ed.’

“Who doesn’t like surfing around here,” he casually mentioned amiably, and no one could really argue with him, seeing as how we all lived in a sea-side province, known for waves taller than trucks.  “Next?”

“I’m-”

“We’re going back and forth,” Mr. Kim interrupted again, dismissing the boy behind Hyewon and focusing on me, arms still crossed and brilliantly camo print still staring into my very soul.

“Oh,” I mumbled in surprise, quickly shuffling through my head of vocabulary for a good answer.  “My name is Lee Bi An, and I am going to college to be a reporter,” I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Ahh,” he replied, nodding his head, and as I waited for him to say something else, his coffee irises caught me in a chokehold, pinching out my breath and squeezing my lungs shut, and I couldn’t breathe right.

I almost went blue-in-the-face waiting for him to look away, his eyes only glancing elsewhere when he turned to the next boy.  I let out a (hopefully) silent sigh and in as much air as the companionship of my fellow students (my pride) would allow me to.

I completely tuned out the rest of the class until I was positive I could control myself; what the hell was all of that?  Since when did looking at someone make my lungs deflate?  I could be coming down with something, but I couldn’t afford to get sick so early in the year.  Not senior year.

“Well, I’m Mr. Kim…”  Our teacher’s voice startled me and I found that it was deeper than I’d originally thought, tickling my ears.  “…but my first name is Namjoon, and I am the youngest teacher in this school.”  He smiled and I swooned, as did the shy girl beside me.  But who wouldn’t swoon at those dimples?  “I’m only twenty-two.”

Several ladies coughed in the back of the room, choking on whatever they’d been drinking and suddenly finding him that more interesting.  It was always that way, though, with most high schools.  Find a good-looking teacher in his early thirties or younger, and you’re bound to find at least a few girls stringing along behind him in adoration.  Nothing permanent, no crush too significant, but enough to bring blushes and unnecessary questions.  Not to mention that after-school extra-credit classes were always bound to be a hit.

I myself was shocked into silence, knowing that most prestigious schools like ours only allowed applicants with six or more years of college to apply, and seeing as how he was only twenty-two, he would’ve had to be sixteen when he started to college to get those requirements in.  And that was just ludicrous.

Four years of college and a bachelor’s degree was more like it, but he must’ve really rocked his grades to get hired straight off the bat.  Like really rocked them.  God bless Kim Namjoon; I prayed for whatever academic deity that blessed him to bless me too, what with my last year of high school coming to its beginning.

“If you’d all walk to the front of the room, you can pick up your reference booklet, which will have all crucial vocabulary necessary for the year.”

With that, we did as told and began the final chapter of our adolescent English lives, which I didn’t regret in the least having to share with Mr. Kim Namjoon.

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

God, why do they all look so old?

I held a hand over my mouth as I tried to contemplate the idea that I was only four years older than most of my classes, the majority of them being seniors.

Did I look that old four years ago?

I practically grew up with them, and with a student uniform I could most definitely pass as being just one more senior in the masses.  It made me feel insignificant, almost tiny to stand before them and preach about something, even if I was much more knowledgeable than any mind in their midst.  I didn’t graduate from high school at sixteen for nothing.

I didn’t complete six years of college with the supreme grades to prove it for nothing.

I didn’t throw away my adolescent life in return for a career, for nothing.

As the days slowly turned into weeks, and the names in my head began to connect to faces, I prayed that this all wasn’t nothing.

Sighing, I stood from my chair and looked over the student-written sentences on the board, calling on raised hands to read out the ones that were correct and fix the wrong ones.  This couldn’t be nothing; not with how much they learned and how many smiles passed through the student body with every class I taught.  I was making a difference and it felt good, but something was missing, something was gone, and it was as difficult for me to remember what it was as it would’ve been to recover it.

Lee Bi An raised her hand and I called on her, knowing that the answer was going to be correct without even having to listen to it, finding it surprising when she even managed to correct me on a simple mistake, blushing lightly and sinking lower in her chair as she did it as if she felt bad.  I blinked for a few seconds before fixing myself, biting my bottom lip in embarrassment that I couldn’t show in front of so many people, smiling and thanking her, making her eyes brighten with just my grin.

It was weird how good that felt in the base of my stomach; it startled me how much I liked smiling at her, how easy it was.

Before I let my thoughts carry me away, I looked away and called on someone in the very back, distracting myself from the conflicting emotions I’d just experienced, knowing that the thought of it would return later that day, as it always did.

Saying that it had been the first time I felt something oddly out-of-place for Lee Bi An would’ve been saying a lie, seeing as how I’d had to deal with similar emotions several times before, all when I least expected it.

Passing her in the hall and seeing her dark hair swiftly flow around her shoulders stirred something in my chest; witnessing the rarely long but common spark of shadow in her eyes made my heart thud mysteriously; catching wind of her name flickered my curiosity even during the deadest of days.

She was pretty, sure, but there were girls ten times as attractive in my classes, and they did nothing to me in the same degree as she did.  It was quite the mystery, I would admit, but nothing a little relaxation could allow time to sort through.

Three months of teaching had really worked a number over me, and I felt more tired with every step I took, every blink I blinked.  I needed a little more sleep, a little more coffee, and a little less Lee Bi An in my head.

Such an equation would surely bring desirable results, and I planned on fulfilling them later that night, after I graded papers and prepared some more packets for an upcoming test.  Oh, and I also needed to send in the reports of several students for their sports requirements.  Not to mention the…

I grumbled and sighed as I realized that this was just one of the many reasons for my mental disintegration.  But then Miss Lee raised her hand I got to hear her voice and despite the completely off-limits satisfaction I got from it, I enjoyed the tonalities and waves and melodic textures of her words, and nodded in her correctness, knowing I had a helluva a lot to do later on and hoping that enjoying the voice of one girl wouldn’t kill me.

---

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

“I’ll see you guys later,” I called to my parents, slipping outta the house and into the driveway, unlocking the car and hopping in.  The early night air sung with warmth and I smiled as I rolled the window down, casually letting my arm hang out as I leisurely pulled into the street.

Whistling as I began to drive, the radio quietly hummed, singing me songs of broken hearts and wild nights.  The forty-minute ride gave me plenty of time to think about what I was doing, and plenty of time to turn around and stop risking my future.  But the idea was too tempting and I was already too far into the plan to do anything else but what I’d strategized.

There was no going back, and I didn’t mind, taking in stride what it all meant and what I was doing, knowing I’d look back one day and laugh.  Or curse my decisions.

But hey, how would I know until it was all over?

Parking in a spot so blatantly out in the open I almost cringed on first inspection, I looked up at the sign and smiled at the name, already familiar with it from the countless days spent researching for my campaign.

The Crabapple, grill and bar, known for having spectacular lemon tequila shots.

I guessed I’d find out firsthand.

I sat down, taking a seat at the bar with my ID in hand.  The bartender looked up and frowned, taking in the sight of my youthful appearance and bright eyes.  He must've doubted the guard’s ability to check for age, because he leaned against the counter and spoke to me.

“Honey, I need to see your ID.”

“Of course,” I replied, sliding it across the polished wood surface.  “It's understandable.  You've no idea how many times I've been pulled aside and told to leave adult parties.”

He looked at the card and stared for a few moments, taking in the idea that someone as juvenile as I could possibly be twenty-one.  But I wasn't that youthful-looking, and he gave me back the card as I rose an eyebrow and a corner of my mouth teasingly.  “Am I good?”

“Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, suddenly smiling.  “What could I get you?”

“It's fine,” I responded, referring to his apology.  “I get it all the time.  I was mistaken for a high-schooler once.”  His eyebrows rose.  “Can you believe that?”

“Really?” a voice to my left inquired, and I fatefully turned to slowly lock eyes with none other than Mr. Kim.  As in, Kim Namjoon.  As in, my teacher.  “I guess I can see it…”  He leaned in slightly and I hadn’t the courage to lean away, too caught up in his heavy lashes and surprised face.  “I wonder why anyone would ever think that.”

His eyes glinted with something akin to trouble, hiding behind the orderly professionalism he radiated even just while sitting at a bar.

“Unless she doesn't mind, sir,” the other man began, evidently noticing the discomfort that had begun to fester and rot my mood, “I'm going to have to ask you to leave the lady alone.”

“She doesn't mind,” I interjected, facing the bartender once more in an effort to redirect myself onto the path I had set long before seeing Mr. Kim.  “I just want a drink, and he’s not going to stop me, so it's alright.”  I hoped he got the message.  “I'll take a lemon tequila twist.”  My teacher was messing with the untouchable determination of a senior looking to screw around for the last time in her high-school career.

Try and hold back fire, and 3^rd degree burns were only to be expected.

“Coming right up,” the nameless uniform whistled half-heartedly, shooting cautious glances over to my neighbor.  Aforementioned neighbor scooted farther away and leaned an elbow next to mine, swishing a shot glass back and forth with his right hand.

“You know,” he started, and I could practically sense the hell about to follow, “I’d usually make a cheesy remark about not seeing you around here before, but for some reason, I think I know why I've never run into you here.”  With that last word, he tapped the counter as if by that he meant any place with alcohol.

I tried to ignore him.

Him and his unnaturally talkative boldness.

“Come on,” he continued, and when I risked a peek at him, I noticed how nice he looked in simple slacks and a loose tee, none of the usual ‘odd’ business wear he sported day to day.  “What is a straight A student doing here?”  He ducked down low, matching my eye-height and meeting my tentative gaze with one that unintentionally (or perhaps purposefully) kept mine tethered.  “Give me an answer; I didn't say a word when you ordered that shot.  That's gotta count for something.”

He sat straight and raised an eyebrow, looking not intimidating nor seductive nor dangerous, as all the other men in the joint had seemed as I walked in, just interested.  Interested in me.

And seeing as how few people had ever stared at me like that, it felt good.

And I gave him something.

I gave him a smile, and turned away to accept my drink from the handsome bartender, no longer as captivating as he had been before I noticed Mr. Kim.  My teacher laughed, and I almost grinned again as the amused chuckles blessed burdened my ears.

Until that moment, I’d never heard him laugh.

He did have a certain charm about him, though, if I thought about it, and meeting him outside school reminded me that he was a regular human being, night life and all.

But he knew how old I really was, and what grade I was in, and what school I went to, and what class I was in eighth period.  He held the power to halt my bucket list in its tracks, and if all I had to do to stop him from doing so was talk to him, then by God, our conversation was going to be the best one he would ever have.

“Anything else, or would that be student harassment?” he asked, and I kicked his chair as he said the word ‘student,’ warning him of the complications of screwing with my night, utterly uncaring of the consequences of the action.

“What else do you want?” I sighed as I faced him completely, searching his face for something that would lead me to an answer.  He leaned away, the corner of his beautiful lips stretching into a gravitational grin.

“What I don't want is to lose my job for harassing a student,” he said, suddenly looking oddly sincere.  “So I'll forget about you ever being here if you forget about my talking to you in such an inappropriate environment.”

“It's fine,” I replied, tearing myself away from his deep, chestnut gaze to focus on my untouched drink.  “And we can talk,” I murmured, finding that the words were gone before I could stop them, “if you want to.”

By the time I looked back up to glance at him, he was beaming into his glass, facing away as if to hide the expression.  He downed the rest of his shot and set it down, raising a hand for another, before leaning his cheek on the heel of his hand and staring at the counter, unable to meet my eyes as he replied.

“Why not?”  My heart thumped just a little harder, for reasons unbeknownst to me.

And I liked the feeling.

A lot.

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

“It's your turn,” she said, and I chuckled as she twirled around in her small hand the remnants of a third shot.

“Okay,” I started, biting my lip as I came up with three questions.  “Favorite color.”

“Purple.”

“Subject?”

“History.”

“Future plans?”

“College for six years, graduate, immediately into the reporting business, and the rest of life will just happen.”

I stared at her and when she happened to catch my surprised gaze, she stopped and stared back, confused.

“What?”

“Every answer you just gave leads me to think you're a good girl,” I said, blinking the exhaustion from my eyes in an effort to continue our ‘get-to-know-you’ game.  I hadn’t drunk enough to get drunk, but she was well on her way already.

“I am a good girl,” Bian then responded, smiling, and her youthful manner shone in a way that scuffed out the rest of the club’s partygoers, dusting their bustling forms in shadow compared to her lively face.

And Bian half-giggled, half-sighed as she threw back another shot.

And I felt something along the lines of a butterfly flit around my stomach.

And I liked it.

A lot.

“Then what’s this?”  I gestured to our atmosphere and leaned closer, subtly testing the limits of what I could do, keeping in mind of what we were to each other.  Who she was.  How old she was.

It was so tempting to forget who I was, use my youth as a crutch, and pretend I was just some interested college student, which I could’ve totally passed for.

Unfortunately, unfairly for me, Bian only leaned a little closer, letting her arm fall on the counter near mine, so near mine that the hairs on our arms brushed each other.  God, she was making it hard not to fall deeper into her eyes, into her nearly drunken smile; her soft words.

Damn, that alcohol was really doing a job on my head.

“This is a bit of rebellion before college,” she replied, turning away and leaving me wanting more of her eyes, her gaze.  “This is just one thing on a list of either illegal or irresponsible things that I want to do before leaving.”  I blinked as I took in what she said.  “It’s actually the second thing.”

“The first?” I asked, finding that I actually cared less about the fact that she was breaking the law for the second time, and more about just what else was she was planning.  Bian took a while to answer, but did so, slowly, cautiously, and just loud enough for me to hear.

“I always wondered what it’d be like to speed through the highways at night.”  Her fingertips found the thinnest of skin on my hand and I shivered, looking down as her nails grazed my knuckles gentler than I thought anyone could.  I didn’t think she was even conscious of what she was doing.  “Without getting caught, of course.”

A chill trickled down my spine and across my back, splaying along my shoulders and shoulder blades.

“What else is on the list?” I asked quietly, curiously indebted to this young woman’s plans.  Curiously indebted in her.  Despite all logic and all reason.

“Can’t tell you.”  Lee Bian grinned to herself, only one side of curling up and the other remaining more or less indifferent.  I couldn’t help but think that she was being a lot less liberal with her personality outside the classroom than I would’ve thought.  But I supposed that was what happened when a ‘good girl’ loosened her reigns just a bit.  “You’d have to be there to find out, and you have too many teacher-related jobs to do to spare time for me.”  She was looking a lot less amused at this point.  “Not many people have enough time for me anyways.  Even my friends are busy getting ready for college, and my family’s forcing me to focus on scholarships until it’s all solidified.”

“Then who are you hanging out with on your time off?” I asked, and Bian looked up into my face so intently that I backed away the tiniest of inches.

“You’re the first person I’ve had fun with in months.”  I stared back.  “It’s kind of sad, you know?  I’m supposed to be enjoying school before college, hanging out with friends and family and celebrating the last bit of dependency on my parents’ bank account that I’ll be allowed for the rest of my life.  Instead I have to focus on grades and interviews and people that I don’t want to have to deal with right now, and that don’t even matter at this point in my academic career.  I’m supposed to be-”

“-Relax,” I murmured, gripping her arm and stopping the ascent of another drink, deciding for her that enough was enough and she didn’t need another.  I honestly should’ve stopped a few ago too.  “Stop drinking and breathe.”

“I am breathing,” she snapped back, doing nothing to wrench her arm free but not looking at me with the same warmth she had been just moment before.  “And as long as I do, I’ll continue to be berated for things I should’ve done, even if I’m already set for a full-ride to basically any university of my choice.”  She tilted her head back, a smooth and pale neck exposed and taunting me.  I almost leaned down to kiss it, almost ran my lips up her pulse, before snapping out of the alcoholic daze and shaking the reverie from my mind.

For ’s sake; I was her teacher.

“How dangerous are the things you’ll be doing?” I asked to both distract myself from the current issue of wrongful attraction and to gauge what trouble she could be getting herself into.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t the tiniest bit interested.

“Depends; depends on the situation, depends the people, how close the cops are to begin with.”

“Are you going to be breaking the law?”

“Not really…”  She scrunched up her face and noticed my hand on her elbow, eyeing it with a careful eye before letting it slide.  “Kinda.  Nothing big.”

“Like what?”

“Top secret.”

“Come on.”

“You’d have to be there, like you’re here now.  ‘Cause you’re here, I can allow you to know that another thing I’ve wanted to do is drink underage, just to try it,” Bian explained, despite my being able to figure that out on my own.  “This is my first time drinking.”  She set the glass down and pushed it away tentatively with the tip of her pointer finger.

“Mine too,” I said, and her head lolled over to face me.

“What?”

“I’m twenty-two, a young teacher (too young in many people’s opinion); I’ve spent the entirety of my life doing what my parents said and getting into the top 1% of the country, grade-wise.  College was over and done with just last year, during which I never drank once (coffee was the only thing I needed to get through the exams and papers).  I’m now an aspiring teacher, caught up in work and schedules, and for the first time in a long while I decided that I deserved a break.”

I tossed her a careless smile and turned to my drink, its contents now looking dull.  “And so I came here.”

“You didn’t have any friends to take you for your twenty-first birthday?”

“Didn’t you have friends to keep you from coming here?”

“They’re all sticklers, and even more ‘good girl’ than I am.”

“Exactly.  I had friends like that too.  And when college rolled around, they left and I left and we left each other, and the only person I ever had more than a few conversations with asides from professors was the librarian.”  She furrowed her eyebrows.  “Sad, right?”

“So this is a first drink for the both of us?” Bian asked, and I chuckled, ruffling my now messy head of hair with a big hand.

“Yah; just look at what it tells about the two of us.  An eighteen-year-old and a twenty-two-year-old, both drinking together, for the first time ever.  Really gives you an idea of our inner workings, doesn’t it?”

“I’m actually a spectacular student,” she interjected, turning away from me and tapping the counter lightly, the alcohol obviously dulling her senses enough for her not to notice the bartender’s worried gaze, his ears unable to pick up our conversation, but his eyes clearly aware of her sour mood.  “Straight-A’s; straight-laced.  Soon enough I’ll be in a straight-jacket from the stress I get.  I guess that’s why I made my list; so that I can break away from the pressure a little…”

Her eyes got dreamy and I found myself leaning in, anticipating every word.

“Five things and the end of the school year, and I’m outta here.  I’m free.”

I wanted to tell her that it never stops, but I hadn’t the heart.  So instead, I laid a rather irresponsible palm on her back and stood her up, pulling her in the direction of the exit after paying in cash.

“Where are we going?”

“Why are you just letting me lead you away?” I criticized half-mindedly, searching for keys all while trying to lead her on the path to the door.  “I could be piling you in the back of my van, and you’re just letting me.”

“I’m not a kid, and on top of that, I don’t even care anymore,” she muttered, the earlier energy and excitement burned out.  “Take me wherever you want.”

“You’re so lucky I was here to watch you,” I grumbled to myself, imagining the eager erts and pimps that would’ve found the jackpot with such a willing participant.  “You’ll thank me for that later.”

“I drove here,” Bian said, and when we broke out into the warm night, she pointed to a small car just down the way.  “Thanks, but I’ll take it from here.”

“I can’t let you drive drunk,” I argued, finding that when she was unwilling, trying to pull her elbow proved to be quite more difficult.

“I’m not drunk.”

“What’s your name.”

“You should know; you call it every day during roll call.”

“My name?”

“God; it’s Mr. Kim,” she mocked, saying my name in an obnoxiously childish tone and swishing her head back and forth as if she had a little girl’s swinging braids.  “I gotta get home.”

“Let me drive you.”

“Don’t you have a car too?”

“Yah, but…”  I desperately tried to think of a reason, unable to leave her alone but needing to get home as well.  “I’ll-I’ll just call my friend.  He and his brother will pick me up and drive me back to my truck.”  She looked skeptical, but couldn’t say anything against it.  “Sound like a plan?”

“How do I know you won’t actually kidnap me?  And in my own car?  They’ll say it was my fault, and when they never find me again, my parents will secretly blame me for letting a creepy guy into my vehicle.  I’ll be an example of what not to do: like, ‘kids, don’t pull a Bian and let a ert into your car; be smarter than that.’  What then, mister genius teacher?  What then?”

Her little rant ended and she stood nervously glancing every few seconds down to my guiding hand around her arm.  She looked about ready to pepper-spray me in the face and get the hell outta there, but I let go and stepped back, palms up in surrender and eyes rolling in exasperation.

“I’m not some ert.”

“How do I-”

“-Look, if you don’t want my help, I’ll just leave you to it then, okay?  You’ll crash into a tree, die, and your parents will still use you as an example.  Like, ‘kids, don’t pull a Bian and drink underage and drive drunk and die.’  Die, Bian, you realize you could die, right?  Does the word ‘die,’ compute?”

I didn’t know why I was getting so worked up over something so silly and someone so trivial, but something in my gut told me not to let her go.  It told me to drive her home.  I was obviously soberer than she.

“It does,” she said, suddenly quiet and docile, looking around the dark neighborhood fearfully, appearing a helluva lot more breakable than she had moments before.  “I-I don’t…”

Trailing off, Bian silenced and wrapped arms around herself, actually taking a single step towards me.

“Would you please drive me, Mr. Kim?” she whispered, and in such a weakened, vulnerable state, I was reminded of how young she actually was, and how I was supposed to be the responsible one.  The old one.  The parent.

I shivered at the mention of such a word, admitting that I’d been eyeing her up the entire night and just dying to hold her hand or lay an arm around her waist.  Was I actually a ert?  A e?  No, she was eighteen; she was legal.

Oh my god.

Did I really just say that?

Oh my ing god.

I pinched my eyes shut and ground the heel of my hand into my temple, washing away the thoughts I’d unfortunately had the displeasure of thinking.

“Of course I’d drive you home,” I said, shaking my head clear of it all and accepting the keys she eagerly shoved into my grasp at the mention of dying.  She clearly wasn’t so rebellious as to risk her life, which was supposed to be reassuring.  Perhaps if I knew what the dangerous and otherwise illegal things she planned on doing were, perhaps then I could be at ease.

But with her future in jeopardy, I sat at the edge of my seat the entire way back to her house (after ringing up my tired and aggravated friends), feeling the dregs of nervous worry eating my ease.  When I at last pulled into her driveway and thankfully saw the headlights of a familiar jeep, my friend and his brother already tailing us, I managed to slide a slip of paper into her purse as I helped her from the car, her lagging and yet nimble fingers already straightening out her appearance and masking the effects of her night out.

“Thanks for everything, Mr. Kim.”

“Call me Namjoon,” I said without thinking, snapping my mouth shut immediately and praying she hadn’t heard me.

“Can I call you Joon?” she suddenly asked, and I felt the breath in my throat die, and the beat in my heart pick up its pace.

“I-I mean, sure, if you want to, but-”

“Never in the classroom, right?”

Once again, I couldn’t breathe, my demeanor and adult façade disappearing faster than I could piece it back together.  I tried to continue talking, only digging a deeper hole into which I was falling farther by the second.  “Right; I mean, when-how are we gonna-I mean…  Will we be seeing each other outside the classroom often enough for that kind of nickname?”  I had already walked her to the door and we stood together, voices hushed and faces thankfully shadowed by the house’s inky splash on the porch.

“Well, not at a bar.  I didn’t really like drinking all that much,” she said, and I could just see the crinkle of her nose as she grimaced.  “Probably somewhere else.  Probably a couple someplaces else.  I liked tonight.”

Goddammit.

“Goodnight Miss Lee.”

“Call me Bian.”  Her smiled shone without light, and I felt the chills traverse every inch of skin they could reach.  “In and out of the classroom.”  I gulped.

“Okay.”  It was a mere whisper of a word, and I cleared my throat to say it again when she half-hugged me, one arm thrown haphazardly around my shoulders, her hair smelling of alcohol and blueberry bath salts.

I wanted to breathe it in as much as my dysfunctional lungs wouldn’t let me.

“Goodnight Joon,” called her drunken voice, and I waved a tiny goodbye before turning on my heels and escaping to my friends’ waiting truck, the delusional heart in my chest thumping just as wildly, if wilder in my ears.

“Who was that?” Seokjin asked as I got in the back, and his brother, Jungkook, eyed the disappearing figure of my student.

Student.  Student.  Student.  She was a student.  She was my student.  I was her teacher.  That’s all that needed to be said in the matter.  No more thought of her.  After the alcohol quit acting up, I’d be good again.  No issues.

“She’s one of my students; just a student.  I’m four years older; there’s obviously nothing going on between us, so just drive, Seokjin.”

“Seokjin hyung,” he corrected, and Jungkook giggled in the passenger seat.

“Four years isn’t that much of an , hyung.  And besides, from here, her looked fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine~” Seokjin smacked him upside the head.

“Shut it kid; you’re nineteen.  You’re just learning what is,” his brother hissed, and Jungkook turned away to look out the window, used to the verbal tirade.  But I wasn’t really paying attention to them.  I was thinking about what Jungkook’d said, taking note of its validity.

Lee Bian really did have a fine .

But being her teacher, I hadn’t noticed.

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

I snuck into my room, my parents expecting me to be home late and likely noticing my return but thinking nothing of it.  I clicked the door shut behind me and breathed out a shaky breath, reigning in the rebellious attitude that’d captured me during the night spent at the bar with Mr. Kim.

Namjoon.

Joon.

I shook my head and dismissed him from my mind, thinking of the next thing to plan for as I tossed my bag on the bed and fell beside it.  I’d almost closed my eyes before the sight of a tiny, crinkled slip of something caught my attention.  Seeing as how I only had a wallet and my keys in the purse, I knew whatever it was, wasn’t supposed to be there.

I reached a tired finger towards it, poking it until it fell out and landed nearer, forcing me to acknowledge its existence.  As I spread it out over the duvet, blurry words worked to clear and make themselves readable, blowing my mind when they did.

~Call me next time you decide to rebel~

(716)-638-7926

 

(A/N: I swear to god, don’t you dare call that number; I completely made it up; don’t embarrass yourselves)

 

And all of my exhaustion dissipated, leaving me to wallow in both confusion, and an undeniably enticing excitement.

---

The next day I fully wished I had planned the excursion on a Friday.  Going into school on a slight hangover and having to uphold my continuously crumbling perfect appearance proved more difficult than expected.  Not only that, but seventh period brought with it a queasiness I couldn’t shake, my stomach turning itself into pretzel after painful pretzel.

Eighth came like it always did.  I sat in the front and dropped my bags next to the chair I was in; Hyewon sat next to me and pulled out the latest book of the latest series; Mr. Kim walked in, tall and proud and professional, any signs of drinking the night before expertly scrubbed out of his bright eyes and clean-shaven face.  I almost scoffed, remembering the disaster I’d been in after waking up.

“Whatever,” I hissed low under my breath into the surrounding bustle of young adults, both jealous and annoyed.  Annoyed that he’d taken so much care to wash out any evidence of our time together.  And to think that he wanted to join me on my next mission.

What am I thinking?

I shook my head and slapped the side of my thigh to help wake myself up, realizing just how dazed and rambling I’d gotten.  Kim Namjoon definitely needed to chill the out and take a break from the laps he was running ‘round my mind.

I barely paid attention to his class, trying so hard to focus on the material that I zoned out instead and delved between my throbbing temples to explore sore, irritated thoughts.

Why’s he so young and so attractive?

Why do I hurt so much when I was lucid enough to remember everything?

Why do I remember hugging Joon?

Kim Namjoon.  Mr. Kim.  Joon isn’t real.  I didn’t ask to call him that.  That would be mortifying.  That part was a bad dream.  That part was false.  So was the part about him agreeing.  Mr. Kim would never allow such inappropriate title to become common-nature to us both.

Sure, during class we’d talked and gotten to know each other on an academic level, but just the fact that we’d participated in drinking/bonding games worried me.  I knew him more personally, and it made me even more nervous to know that I liked everything I’d learned.  It almost sickened me, but it stirred my chest a little more, which in turn made me want to throw up, so by the end of class and by the end of my preliminary mental investigation, I wasn’t sure how I felt about anything.

Anything but his warm farewell grin, which made its way to me, along with everyone else.  His grin was something I was comfortable in saying I liked.  It was so warming, that I was sure anyone else would’ve said it felt the same for them.  I couldn’t be the only one who fell in love with such a beautiful smile.

No way.

I would’ve smiled back, but I was already out the door and on my way home, knowing the moment I saw that grin that everything I remembered happened.  Even the ‘Joon’ part.  It was all written in his face, in his eyes.

But putting it behind me, I needed to start planning for my next outing, seeing as how though it wasn’t as dangerous or risky, it would be just as fun.

And not only that, but in the corner of my mind I wondered if inviting Mr. Kim would be worth it.  If he would go.  If he would accept and tag along willingly, even participate.

That, in its own regard, was much more thrilling than any late night bar could ever be.

---

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

There was literally nothing to do.

Absolutely nothing.

Not a thing.

And the saddest part of the whole affair was not that I hadn’t a friend to call up, nor that I still had five-minute microwaveable noodles (despite the fact that I had the time to cook anything).  No; the saddest of it all was that I could think of nothing and nobody except for Lee Bi An, who I couldn’t imagine spending her Saturday night doing anything besides her third mission.

Without me.

I cringed with the thought and leant back into my couch, wanting nothing more than to forget about her and her list and I couldn’t come up with a good reason as to why I couldn’t.

I mean, for God’s sake, other than being a brilliant student, she was nothing special.  Our ‘bar date’ was nothing.  Nothing but all kinds of weird.  I was getting by my student, and she also stepped over the line.  Hugging me, calling me ‘Joon,’ making my heart beat.

Goddammit, I just needed to think of something else.  She was probably at home, sleeping.  I should be too.

“Sleep it off,” I mumbled, closing my eyes and shaking the polo shirt off just as my phone began to ring.  I walked across the room, shirtless, and answered, unable to recognize the number shown.  “Hello?”

“Joon?”

My breath caught and my heart stopped.

And I grinned, even as I told myself not to.

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

I clicked my phone off and almost threw it against the wall in my frustration.

How could I have just called him?  What had I been thinking five minutes prior?  Did I lose my mind?

I ground the heel of my palm into my forehead and cursed, the beginning credits rolling before the movie muffling my cuss words before any of the other patrons could hear.  He was coming here, and I couldn’t believe that I’d actually asked him to.  What the hell was my-

“Miss,” someone interrupted my mental tirade, and I looked up in surprise.  “Would you mind sitting in the next row?  This is the only row left that would seat my entire family.”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind,” I said with a smile, shuffling into the seat ahead of the one I was just in.

“Thank you so much,” the woman said, and she, her husband, and their kids piled in like a row of little ducklings.

“No problem.”  I looked around, scouting out where Namjoon and I could sit with a seat in between us (for safety measures).  But as the minutes ticked by and the people piled in, and I hadn’t the conscience to lie and say I was waiting for two more friends, I came to the grim conclusion that we’d have to sit next to each other.

“I should’ve chose a terrible frickin’ movie to start off with,” I hissed, cursing the lack of available seating.  The only upside was that the occasional aisle attendant wouldn’t remember our faces well enough to spot us in the other studio later.

That was the only difficult thing about movie-hopping.  You couldn’t be caught by the same janitors, the same managers.  The only rule was watch a movie, hide in the bathroom, and slip into another theater.  That was it.

I already sent the instructions to Joon Namjoon over text, knowing that whispering it would be too intimate and too risky (for the operation and my heart).

At some point I dug my face in my knees and sighed, wondering if I gave him the right directions, and if he was actually coming.  Maybe he was just reporting me.  Not paying for a movie or three wasn’t too bad, but wasn’t good.  I’d be escorted home with a warning, and my parents wouldn’t let me leave the house for the next three billion weeks.  That would destroy my plans.

My life.

“Why, may I ask, did ‘The Babadook’ strike your fancy?” Namjoon asked as he came to sit next to me.  I jumped and nearly smacked him unconsciously for it, recovering remarkably well and sitting straight, unperturbed, and aware.

“It didn’t.”  He leaned on the armrest that we shared, and I leaned on the one farthest from him.  “I thought you might like it.”  Dear God; kill me.

“Why?”

“You said in class that you liked supernatural genres, and horror’s practically the same thing.”

“Yes, I did.”  He cleared his throat and sat taller, looking away and facing the screen.  “’Can’t believe you remembered that.”

“I remember everything,” I said, looking away as well, our gazes parallel and unmerging.  “That’s why I do so well in school.”  Our voices were strained, our body language so stressed.  I could almost cringe from the awkwardness of it all, if only my spine would loosen up enough.

“Makes sense.”  He was definitely stretching for words, for something to say to me.  At least in the bar, he’d been comfortable, relaxed, if slightly tensed about the whole situation.  Sitting there next to me, he was absolutely as paranoid as I was, hands clasped painfully tight and teeth biting bottom lips in nervousness.

Why did I ever invite him?

“Why did you invite me?” he suddenly asked, still not looking over and yet still borrowing into my soul with his words, his deep, chest tonality that sent shivers running down my-

Why did he also have to be frickin’ mind-reader too?

“I, just, don’t… want to be alone if I’m caught, is all,” I lied, knowing the emotional turmoil that led to my phone call, quite familiar with the odd attraction that plagued me.

“I wouldn’t wanna be, either,” he concurred, and the show made the decision for both of us to shut up as the credits ended and the movie began.

Thank whatever deity is up there, I thought, running a hand over my mouth and praising the film gods for acting on their own initiative.  What I needed to calm my nerves was a nice show to watch, with time to relax and time to think through my life choices-

-We were watching a horror movie.

I groaned and leant back further, trying to disappear into the seat forever.  He noticed, I could tell by the slight inclination he made towards me, a worrying glance shooting over his shoulder to graze me before returning to the screen, but he either didn’t know what to do, or didn’t have the courage.

And so we continued, me silently regretting every decision I’d made since stepping into the theater, and him, completely engrossed in the film, down the last detail.  I refrained from gasping, but couldn’t stop from flinching from time to time, sparking more worrying gazes from him, which I promptly ignored and looked past.

The genre reflected my mood to a tee, and I found that the longer I thought about us, the more I felt horrified with my feelings.  The very fact that I called the mess in my gut ‘feelings’ upset me, but I couldn’t say I felt nothing for my teacher.  I definitely felt something, I was just so unsure of what it was.

I looked up to him; I thought he was brilliant; I loved his smile; he was nice, and oddly funny; I liked the way he looked interested in me…

That had to be it.

I was infatuated with his playboy looks, his playboy eyes.  Any guy with a pair of those would have no trouble getting a girl in any bar.  Hell, you could make a girl drop dead with that stare at a funeral.

Pun intended.

So there was no interest, just lust for attention, as always.  Such a typical female, I was, it almost hurt to admit.  I mean, there was literally no other expectation for the ordeal-

“-Are you okay?” Namjoon asked, noticing my clenched fists and pinched lips.  He leaned a little closer, but it was such a minute move that only someone paying attention would’ve taken note of it.  So, naturally, I took note.

“Nothing,” I lied, finding the content playing to be extremely disturbing and borderline heart-attack worthy.  I had no appetite for sleep, and guessed that I wouldn’t for another week or so.  “I’m fine.”

“Okay, but if you need to, you can hold my hand,” he said, making my head snap up to face him, his haunting eyes digging into my heart and striking keys that a mere playboy wouldn’t have been able to.  I got caught up staring, barely able to recognize the sound of a quiet chuckle hiccupping from his lungs.  “I’m joking.”

“I know,” I breathed, too quiet for him to hear and too breathy to be called a sentence.  Disappointment rang its bell within my chest and this time the movie couldn’t muffle out the noise.

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

I tried to laugh off my pathetic cover-up of a joke, hoping she bought it.  The completely and utterly terrified look she had on her face when I offered to hold hands was too much and I felt so guilty that I almost got up and left right then and there.

I was making moves on a student.

The mere thought of it gave me goose-bumps and an uncomfortable itch at the back of my neck that reminded me of how much of a ert I was being.  I hadn’t had a single intimate thought of her while there, but I still felt just as inappropriate.

Just as offensive.

As if she’d want me as a boyfriend.

As if anyone’d want me as a boyfriend.

I wasn’t exactly prime material.

Cool, collected, and witty in the classroom, and insecure anywhere else.  Society gave me the creeps, more than any horror movie could, and I sighed into my palm as I realized how close I allowing myself to get to her.

It was scary, frightening…  Alarming.

And yet the alarms in her own head obviously weren’t working right, seeing as how she personally invited me herself.  Didn’t she know that as a twenty-something-year-old guy, my warning bells never gave me accurate information?  I could literally be afraid of a bird that squawked weird, and two minutes later walk down a sketchy back alley to follow the hotdog stand.  That was how guys were.

She was supposed to push me away, not tempt me to come closer.  I couldn’t-

-Stop thinking.

I cleared my throat and sat back, pulling out a stick of gum to chew and another to offer her.  Bian took it and I treated the act as I would’ve had it been my best friend.  Calmly.

It was just gum.

The next movie had already started by the time we got in, our respected ‘bathroom breaks’ taking longer than needed.  A little caution never hurt anyone, though, and we slipped through the doors before any guards could see us.

My heart beat with the adrenaline, and I couldn’t remember the last time it had done that.  Childhood was full of such rushes, such passions, and with my early adulthood, I lost a lot of that.  Maybe that was all I liked about her.

Maybe all I found attractive was the chance to take back my youth, my wasted time.  Maybe I wasn’t a erted professor, but a man wanting to regain a bit of his adolescence.

Maybe I was just making up excuses for coveting after something I couldn’t have.

But could I?

Could it be so bad to like her?

Jungkook had said it.  Four years was barely an , and she was both mature enough to match me, and childish enough to bring me down from acting like a stickler of an adult.  Maybe we complimented each other.

It could happen.  My parents were three years apart.

I looked down at her again, seeing the way her eyes captured every piece of the movie and yet processed none of it.  She was just as out of it as I was, lost in thought and reason.  Maybe she was thinking we could work out too.

Maybe we were thinking the same thing.

But I would never know.

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

Four years wasn’t like six, or eight.  I’d say my limit was probably five…  Yah, definitely five.  Four was acceptable.  Four I could handle.  Once I got out of high school, of course.  Then I’d be free and in college and someone only four years older could provide for me.  Watch over me.  Be a man to me.

The comedy we were watching cracked both of us up and I managed to look at the situation light-heartedly.  We were enjoying our time together, and I saw not a single reason why I couldn’t entice him on my next escapade.  I liked his company, and he always looked like he needed a break from being old.

Twenty-four was young, but when you were teacher, and a new one at that, you tended to age faster.  Harder.  And I didn’t want anything happening to Namjoon’s lady-killer looks.  He was gonna need those.

I grinned as the main character got caught sneaking drugs into a party by her sister, hearing Joon’s reliably pleasing chuckle hit my ears too.  And I smiled a little more.

Four years.

Not bad.

By the time the movie ended we’d reached a point of comfortable conversation, which we carried out into the foyer.  It was already twelve, and my mother thought the movie I was going to see with my friends ended at eleven.  A clever lie could be formulated, but at the moment I was enjoying an easy talk with Namjoon and all my thought process was going into figuring out how he could have such perfect hair.

“You only snuck into one film?  Here I thought you’d be so rebellious as to cheat the system out of three or four.”

“I’ve gotta get home, and the rest of the movies were all Rated-R, Rated-M, -driven stuff.  I didn’t wanna watch that.”

He smiled at my disgust and held the door open for me as we traversed into the street outside.  His hands were so big I almost reached out and grabbed one, wanting to hold it so badly that I felt my pulse pick up just at the thought of them on my own, or my waist, or my hips…

“Thanks for saving me from that too,” he said, and I nodded with a laugh.  I saw the familiar truck he drove and felt myself flash back to a drunken trip home, filled with wishes of kisses and immature, premature dreams of ‘we.’

I wasn’t a child, but still the feelings of being in middle-school enveloped me as I realized how quickly my crush had developed.  Just like the five-minute infatuations one would experience with a complete stranger on the bus, or in a crowd.  Completely unreasonable but just as real.

“I would’ve loved to drive you home again,” Namjoon started, stuffing hands into his pockets like a high-schooler (which I felt he was at heart), “but we both brought our vehicles, and, gratefully, you’re not drunk this time.”

My cheeks heated up as he leaned on my car, my hand on the handle but unresponsive to all messages regarding getting in just yet.  His face was flushed and his eyes bright and I loved the way I could almost see myself in them, if I only inched a little nearer, and just a bit… closer…

I caught myself and bit my lip, holding back before I could step farther into the inescapable ditch of attraction.

Goddammit, Kim Namjoon was handsome.

“So unfortunate,” I replied teasingly, quiet and sounding like such a flirt I blushed again, never ducking my head and never breaking his stare.

“So, I’ll see you Monday?” he asked, and I felt a wave of recognition hit me as I remembered he was my professor, the fact making but a small splash in the oceans of my fascination.  I didn’t really care.  Not after seeing him casually dressed and casually talking and so, oh, so casually giving me a gaze that suggested he wanted to be more than just a teacher.

More than just a partner in crime.

And I couldn’t even lie well enough to convince myself I wouldn’t like that, though, I couldn’t quite admit I wanted it, either.

But I was getting there.

---

~~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~~

Walking through the doors and into the school lobby, I nearly ran into our principal, his pressed suit casual enough to be charmingly friendly, but professional enough to be business attire.  He smiled when he saw me, one hand on my shoulder as he steadied the both of us.

“Namjoon.  How’s the year been for you?  A few months in; are you starting to regret it yet?”  He chuckled and let go, walking with me as I answered.

“Not a chance; I love it.”  He appeared pleased.  “It’s been great; it really has.”

“That’s great; some teachers crash and burn, but all reports say you’re going strong,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Well, I’ve got to get going.  Nice talking with you, Mr. Kim.”

“Anytime.”  I bade him goodbye and felt the air rush back into my lungs, their previous desertification leaving me a blinking, near gasping mess.  The big boss-man had no idea I was crushing on a student.  If he ever found out…

I held a hand to my chest as I continued to walk, hoping the quake in my hands would die out before first period.  My heart pounded hard and furious, threatening to break out of my chest.  Fraternization between students and teachers was obviously out of line and strictly banned under all circumstances.  In no way was I to socialize inappropriately with any student in the building, regardless of whether they had my class or not; it mattered not.

Feelings mattered not.

How I felt meant nothing.

Then I ran into another body, this time much smaller and more feminine.  I looked down to see Bian, her books safely in her arms and thank God not clichély strewn upon the floor.  She had an annoyed crinkle in her eyebrows as she glanced up, stepping back several feet before meeting my eyes.

Her gaze softened and she relaxed when she realized it was me, and I melted just a little, seeing her so affected by my presence.

“Sorry for that, Mr. Kim.  I wasn’t watching.”  Her lips moved so effortlessly, so fluidly that I wondered how they managed to stop moving when she stopped talking.

“Oh, it’s fine, Bian,” I began, looking around to catch sight of any surrounding students or faculty.  Only a few passing ones, casually seeing us and continuing on, bored.  “I was distracted.”

“I’ll see you eighth,” she said, all the while turning to leave, but something terribly influential in my stomach made my voice pick up and my arm almost shoot out to grab her elbow.  I stopped myself from touching, but couldn’t stop the words that poured past my lips into the air and into her ear.

“The next thing…”  She paused, fingers flexing against a binder nervously.  “It’s just as safe as the theater, right?”  She didn’t look back, her shoulder facing me and her body language strong in opposition to our conversation.

“No,” she then whispered, looking to the floor and hugging her bag closer, showing how submissively passive she was without her rebellious acts of independence.  “It’s not very dangerous, but it’s not very safe.”

I my lips and almost spoke, shutting my mouth for a second before taking half-a-step nearer.  “How ‘not safe’ is it?”

“You’ll see,” she breathed, taking into consideration her passing classmates and trying to meet my eyes in an effort to make it all look as normal as possible.  “You want to see, right?”

I pinched my lips tight together, keeping her gaze but feeling weak beneath it.  I hadn’t expected her to ask if I wanted to join again.  I almost wished she hadn’t.  I shouldn’t be doing things like that.  But she cocked an eyebrow and leaned heavily on one foot, hip jutting out in such a relaxed position I felt relaxed myself.  I felt calm, at ease; in a situation where I’d have no problem going out with her for one more night.

No harm, no foul.

“Only if you me to,” I replied, clearing my throat and standing straighter.  She mirrored me and did the same, grinning so slightly I would’ve thought I’d imagined it had her eyes not smiled too.

So bright.

So vibrant.

“Two weeks, Joon.  Two weeks.”  Bian pressed her tongue into the corner of her lips and I swallowed.  “I’ll text you the details.”

“I look forward to it.”

She blushed and I relished every moment of everything she did because of me.

“I hope not; you could lose your job for what we’re going to do.”

But nothing she said could scare me as long as her lashes kept sweeping me away into a sweet, sinful oblivion, and I cocked my head to the side so softly I thought I saw her do the same, mimicking me for lack of anything else to do.

“Maybe I’m not worried about that.”

I was such a flirt, and she knew it, but for whatever reason she let me.  And let herself too.

“Maybe you should be.”

“Maybe you should get to class, Miss Lee,” I said, already beginning to walk away, seeing the surprise and amusement in her fading face.  “And maybe you should refrain from calling me ‘Joon’ on school grounds.”

“Ah, but Mr. Kim,” she started, getting me to turn around in the empty hallway to face her, “’maybe’ is such a, suggestive word.  ‘Maybe’ you don’t want to be called Joon, but maybe you do.”  Her smile cut me and I felt my gaze flash with something more than just friendly interest.  More than anything appropriate.

“Get to class, Bian,” I said as a fellow teacher turned the corner and came into sight.  She waved and ducked away, instantly shrinking a few inches as she lost the firm stature she’d developed in my presence.  I thought about it and realized that maybe I gave her confidence.

Maybe I made her feel special.

But I didn’t do that to people; if anything, I made them feel insignificant and dumb in comparison to how smart I was.  Lee Bi An obviously knew how intelligent I was, but it never diminished the passionate spark that lit her up in times of revolt.  She had a wild side that revealed itself in the wildest of situations, and I felt that just a little bit of cheated-out movies wasn’t really enough to fan the flames high enough for her to be pacified.

Whatever we were doing, it was more than cheating the system, but less than drinking riskily at a bar underage.  That had been too much adventure, too involved.  If I could guess, she’d want to do something that left a mark, but not on her.  Not on me.  On something she wanted to scar as her own.  Something chancy but not dangerous.

And I looked forward to seeing how I fit into the equation.

---

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

I was picking up Namjoon this time, and as I drove by the streets he’d mentioned, turning down one in particular and parking next to a strange, tan house, I lowered the radio and rolled down the window.

A tall figure plodded out, dressed in black and bustling down the porch steps to the driveway.  I leaned over and strained to shove the passenger-side door open, failing and falling onto the arm rest uncomfortably.

I sat up as he opened the door by himself, the top of his hair clipping the top of my car.  It was white, and styled, and stuck out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of night.

“Here,” I said, tossing something into his lap and beginning the drive to the still undisclosed location at which we were to do something I still hadn’t told him about.  “You need to wear that at all times tonight.”

“This is insanity,” he mumbled, taking one look at the dark ski mask and grimacing.  “I did my hair nice this time.”

“For the record, your hair is always great; and you really can’t go out with that.  It’s a dead giveaway if the police are after us,” I explained, slipping my own mask over my head, the eyes and nose cut out of it but not the mouth.  “Wouldn’t want that.”

“I suppose,” he muttered, passing over the part about possibly getting chased by the po-po, and focusing instead of just what it meant for his marvelous head of gorgeous hair.  I really did like it; I always wanted to touch it, let my fingers slip in between the locks and run down the nape of his neck, feeling warm and feeling his hands hold me back and…

“Don’t worry,” I said to distract myself, “your striking eyes won’t be covered.”  I grinned a little, not that he could see it, and chuckled, looking over for a second before focusing again on the road.  What I saw was a happy Namjoon, holding the mask in his lap and gazing at me in the strangest of ways.

And I shivered, despite the heat.

“Well aren’t you lucky,” he replied, and I snorted, cruising into a familiar area after several minutes.  “But in all seriousness, we aren’t robbing anyone, are we?  Not a bank, I hope.”

“No theft of any kind,” I said, pulling into a parking spot two streets from where we actually needed to be.  “Just a little vandalism.”

“Like, breaking things?” he asked, looking apprehensive.

“No, like a mixture of trespassing, and a tiny, tiny little smidgen of spray paint.”  And the puzzle pieces in his head clicked and he looked away with a half-hearted chuckle to stare out the window.

“Graffiti.”  His mouth set tightly and I could see the strain in his jaw.  “Really?”

“Yah; doesn’t seem too bad in the grander scheme of things, right?”

“No, I mean, kinda, I-” He broke off and clasped his hands together, enveloping the mask.  “-I mean, Bian, that you could lose your scholarships for something this stupid, and I could get fired for things much, much less stupid, so let’s not talk about trying to keep my job after vandalizing the side of a building for fun.”

“So you think it’ll be fun,” I paraphrased, getting out and going to the trunk to grab my bag.

“I think it’ll be dangerous for our careers,” he continued, following and still not covering up his beautiful face.  I shrugged on the pack and stared up into his eyes, seeing the nervousness and the reluctance.  I wanted to reassure him of the situation, tell him that the police rarely scouted regions such as the one we were in, the buildings mostly empty and deserted (Namjoon lived near the sketchy areas in the city); but I knew that part of the thrill was thinking we could be caught at any time, and I wanted him to feel the full force of our endeavor.

“I think that it won’t be dangerous until we’re in custody.”

“Bian,” he exclaimed quietly, coming closer and leaning lower, “risking your scholarships for something so stupid, is stupid.”

“Being young is parallel to being stupid,” I whispered, and something in what I said must’ve struck a key in his heart, because he couldn’t meet my eye and couldn’t protest to our walking away from the car.

He trailed behind, slow and making me stop to wait for him on occasion.  It only took ten minutes or so to reach the old school, ancient and rotting and signed off for demolition in three weeks.  I thought it might be nice to redecorate before its death, hoping to spark a little life amongst the desolate brick.

Namjoon hadn’t spoken a word and I began to fear that I’d said the wrong thing and that he was either going to remain silent or refuse to participate, both of which would result in the night’s mood promptly dying.

I stared at him, seeing the mask in his hand and seeing his fingers work over the fabric in thought.  I stared into his face, the moonlight glinting off and leaving behind a sheen of diamond on his cheeks.

“Joon,” I began, and he met my gaze, eyes open but mouth cold, “are you gonna wear it?”

“Yah,” he said, looking down and studying the hood of wool I wanted him to put on, seemingly trying to judge its worth before giving in and pulling it over his head.  His big lips disappeared and I felt cheated out of something, but only turned to the bag and shook out several cans of spray paint, carefully deciding on the first color I wanted.

The first color for something I hadn’t yet sculpted in my mind.  I didn’t know what to do, but knew that something had to get drawn for me to build off, so I took a running start and trailed a line of white crying behind me.

“Very inspirational,” he chuckled, and I turned happily to hear more chuckles, his eyes smiling and his fingers curling around a can of blue.  “I can practically see the creativity dripping from this piece of art.”

“Shut up and make a better one, or join me in the pursuit of an ending better than its beginning.”

“Are you talking about making this streak of white into something good?”

“What else?”  He laughed again and came over, standing back and looking at the entire wall, plotting tiny points in his head and hopefully planning something.  “Will you help me?”

“What else?” he asked in retaliation, and I bit my lip, glad that he couldn’t see it.  “Over there, write something.”

“Like what?”

He sighed in a way that sounded more entertained than exasperated.  “Anything you want.”

“What I want?”

“Yah, we’ll both write something and then go over and embellish each other’s based on whatever the word is.  Get to it,” he said, turning to his own half of the line, the beginnings of a single letter bubbling from the can and onto the bricks.

I faced my own portion, already knowing what to draw.

~~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~~

‘YOUTH’ sprawled its way across the wall in curling letters rather than in a classic block font.  But that was how youth was anyhow: twirling and twisted and breaking from the stereotype of life.  At least, that was how it thought of itself.

That’s what young people thought of themselves.

I wasn’t sure what I thought of myself, but I sure as Hell didn’t think I was anything extraordinary.

“Done,” she whispered, and I briefly wondered why she was so quiet when there was no one around, before I turned to read what she’d written.  And for the millionth time in my existence, I felt the air in my lungs drain away, taking with it my heartbeat.  Or maybe my pulse was just so fast it became one single pounding in my ears, because even though I couldn’t hear it, my knees went weak and I barely processed how close she’d inched in the time it took my head to comprehend what I’d read.

‘KISS ME’ was stained into the brown-red bricks, bright and full of life and color and everything else I saw her as.  Young and stunning and pure art and ever purer beauty.

I felt the hand that fell on my shoulder, felt it like a burning brand stamping something into my flesh.  I looked down at Bian, her eyes closer than they’d ever been before and their russet tonalities sizzling themselves into my memory so that I’d never get the chance to forget.

“What about it?” she breathed, her other arm winding itself around my shoulders and pulling me nearer.  A hand found its way under my mask and into my hair and I shivered on contact.  I couldn’t stop my thumbs from lifting the edge of her own mask, pulling it up and up and over and past her nose and beyond her brilliant eyes, letting it fall behind her feet.  Her lips were parted so slightly I lost myself in trying to see her tongue, dropping the self-control that no longer truly had a hold on me.

My arms circled her, taking the body I’d watched move by itself for so long, taking it and moving it for myself.  She tugged my own hood off too, fingers coasting over my face and haunting my cheeks, my ears, the crinkle of my eyes.  Our foreheads met and over her back splayed my palm, pressing her into me as her nose bumped mine.  I stopped breathing, eyes fluttering closed and her lingering exhale tracing my features like the finest of feathers.

And our mouths met, slow and soft and like two silk puzzle-pieces that fit together better than they were supposed to.  She leaned even closer, even farther into my embrace, letting herself mold to me like putty, and I replied by hugging her tighter, wrapping strong arms around her waist and resting a single hand between her shoulder blades, feeling her bones move and her body react to mine.

And in that moment there were no more teachers, no more students.  There were no longer an eighteen-year-old and a twenty-two-year-old.  There were no more social regulations to follow or preach.

There were only two kids, kissing, killing time like any two high-schoolers would.  They were young.  They were still growing up.

They were what youth was, and as the fumes of spray paint discolored the sky, they kissed, and their tongues knew what it felt like to tangle with another; their nails found just how softly they could dig into skin and hair and clothes without hurting anyone; their nerves discovered that they could be on overdrive, sparking like sparklers and burning like fire, all while being more numb than should’ve been possible.

She kissed me like she wanted to more than anything else.

I kissed her like I’d never kissed anyone in my life.

Graffiti, in that moment, became my favorite pastime.

---

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

School wasn’t awkward.  It was like a test.  It was like a secret.

Our secret.

How flirtatious could we be without attracting attention to ourselves?  It was so fun to see his fleeting gazes flick my way and catch my eye with a darting passion that flooded my nervous system with electricity and chilling, tickling shudders that ran down the back of my neck and spine.

Getting papers back, I found cute little messages, a sweet, adorable side of Namjoon I didn’t know existed, showing itself in the riskiest of places.  He never touched, never stared for too long, but at times a few of his pen made all the difference when I found a little smiley face hidden within the pages of an essay.

A particular comment under a sticky-note at the top of my recent quiz made me almost burst into laughter in the middle of a silent class.

Congrats on your A

If you were hoping for something different, see me after class and I can give you a D

A month or two of our back and forth had really let loose some of the more inappropriate sides that the two of us had shared without knowing.  But again, he never touched, never gave anyone reason to suspect a thing.  He was good with all that self-control; ‘never’ meant ‘never’ and ‘never’ meant no exceptions.

He couldn’t risk it.  I would get off as a brainwashed teen if the two of us were caught, treated like a victim, but he’d lose his job, be thrown in a cell and carted off to court, and nothing I said would make much of a difference.  Fraternization was illegal.

We were illegal.

But it felt so good to break the law, what with his smile and his eyes and the giggling kisses we shared off the scene, that I didn’t mind bending boundaries and re-circuiting the restrictions.

Two month of our secret and he wanted to take it a step further.  Not ; it was unspoken that things like that would come when I was ready, not when he wanted me to be.  The ‘step further’ was meeting his friends, and I couldn’t conjure up a reasonable explanation as to why I was nervous.

He said they were chill.  He explained that they were working individuals like himself, but less professional and more childish (except for Min Yoongi, apparently).  He promised that it’d be more of a night out than a ‘meet the family.’

Still I scrambled to find proper clothes for the occasion, taking into consideration that we were going bowling.  With so many people around I shouldn’t have to worry about awkward silence that would’ve been met in someone’s apartment.  Also, that someone named Min Yoongi was bringing along his own girlfriend (one that Namjoon said supported our relationship), so it really couldn’t possibly be as bad as I was imagining it to be.

“You ready?” Joon called from my phone, the call on speaker so I could hear him while I threw on an outfit.

“Always,” I muttered, more to reassure myself than to answer him.

“I’m sure you’re looking great.  As always.”  I smiled, glad he couldn’t see, and tugged on my hair, noting the frizz.  “I bet your hair is fabulous too.”

I froze and looked down at the phone, wondering if I’d accidently face-timed him instead of just calling.  But seeing the screen de-rigged my accusations and I picked the cell up to talk properly.  “How did you know I was fixing my hair?”

“I didn’t.  But you fuss over it all the time, and thought it’d be nice to reassure you.”

“Well, it was nice, but now you’re kinda creeping me out.”

“Oh no,” he sighed, but I could hear the smile, “I thought you’d never guess.”

“What?”

“I’m a mind-reader,” he whispered, and I began the trip downstairs to the front hall, deciding enough was enough and that my outfit was just fine.

“If you can guess what I’m wearing, I’ll believe you,” I challenged, feeding into his childishness because he was cutest that way.

“Oh, you’re probably wearing that navy-blue tee -because you’re beautiful in it-, those black shorts with the tiny cross on the -because you feel secure in dark colors-, along with a high pony-tail, because you like that style.”

I rested a hand on my hip and took a look around for any nearby windows.  “Show yourself; I know you looked into my house and saw me.  Where are you?”

“On your porch,” he confessed, and I peered out the front door window pane to see my English teacher.  He smiled wide as soon as I opened the door and stepped out, taking the way I shoved him towards his truck with stride, grinning the whole way.  “I didn’t know you liked it so rough,” he chuckled as I practically propelled him into the front seat.

“If you were seen picking me up,” I hissed, looking around for neighbors walking their dogs or even worse, my local friends.

“We’d be in a load of trouble.”  He started the vehicle when I plopped down into the passenger-side seat.  “I hear you loud and clear.”

“Then stop doing it,” I mumbled, feeling my heart slow as we pulled out and set on course for a distant bowling alley.  Nothing we did in public could be done locally, and often we drove an hour for a date.  But I didn’t mind in the least, and he never complained.

In fact, he bought my favorite music on his iPod, more than willing to play songs that got me pumped for the night of karaoke, food, or general romance ahead.  And good God, could Kim Namjoon be romantic…

For our fifth official date (graffiti-ing didn’t count) he took me to a restaurant with the firm belief that just because we couldn’t come out with our relationship at the moment, didn’t mean that he couldn’t treat me like the lady I was.

We ate fancy food and made fun of the uptight waiters, talked about nothing and discussed philosophies.  We had a game we played, called ‘Biases Unravelled,’ in which we would together argue both sides of an controvercial argument, completely unbiased, following that with a debate where we reasoned for our own opinions on the subject.  It helped us reflect, learn, and bond over something that stimulated our minds.

Unfortunately, sometimes I zoned out while he talked, finding that my thoughts had the ability to completely focus in on his lips, his dimple, his lashes.  Or maybe that was just his ability.

Once during a conversation (ironically about women being portrayed as brainless, -driven creatures), I blantantly leant in and kissed him hard on the mouth, too taken by his handsome updo and outfit to come up with an answer.  He responded by kissing back, obviously, and the night ended with a make-out session godly enough for me to question whether he was human or not.  The way his tongue moved, the way he held me…  I never wanted to be let go.

“Babe, we’re here,” he suddenly cut in, and my thoughts halted in their tracks as I saw we had indeed arrived at Buster’s Bowling Alley.  I swallowed the nervousness before it could be born, glad to see so many cars in the parking lot.  The more people, the more I could relax into the background.

“Okay,” I breathed, scanning the area for people around Namjoon’s age, praying that they weren’t as handsome as he was.  Or even close.  The last thing I needed to make my night near impossible was for his friends to be eye-catching.  God, that would be tragic.

“Seokjin!” my boyfriend suddenly shouted, catching the attention of a tall figure walking toward the double-doors.  From the back, I noted the wide-fricking shoulders and his height, but when he turned around, all smiles and happy to see Namjoon, my resolve crumbled a little bit.

Rounded face, big lips, princely in every aspect of the word.  Seokjin was quite handsome; luckily not as much as Namjoon, but he was certainly up there.

“Hey,” he called back, and waited for us to catch up, my feet moving slower than usual.  Namjoon instictfully wound his right arm around my waist, holding me closer and pulling me with him faster.  I let him, let him hug me to his side and lead me to his friend.  I thought it was for my own comfort (which I’m sure it partly was), but as soon as we neared Seokjin I noticed his grip distictfully tighten, Namjoon’s knuckles white as he kept me with him.

Apparently I wasn’t the only nervous one.

“How’ve you been?” he asked, and I rested a single hand on his back quietly, trying to mediate the worry between us two, trying to lessen the both of ours.

“Work’s the same for me, but Jungkook just got fired so I’ve been on him to get another one for the past week or so.”

“Sounds rough,” Namjoon said, loosening his hold on me as he relaxed himself.  I managed a small grin as Seokjin looked to me, feeling young and childish under his gaze.  If I remembered correctly, he was the oldest of their little friend group.  He was six years older than me.

He was just one of six new oppas I’d be meeting, and I swallowed the lump in my throat as he held out his hand to shake mine.

“Nice meeting you.”

“You too,” I said, gripping his long fingers tentatively.

“Namjoon’s told me so much about you,” he said, and I nearly blushed at the idea.  “It’s nice to meet you in person, though.”

“You too.”  I felt like a broken record.

“Why don’t we go in?” Namjoon interrupted, prodding us in the general direction of the building.  Seokjin fell in step beside him, the two sharing a few words as I tried to settle my unsettled mind.  Keep it together.  Keep it together.  Keep it together.

“Namjoon!  Seokjin!” some people called from the benches, and I looked over to see a group of five mind-blowing men, all perfect.  All gorgeous.  All mind-blowingly, perfectly gorgeous.

And all coming over to say hello.

“Hey,” I heard from multiple mouths; “nice to see you,” from others.  I felt my head twirl as they surrounded us, digging my fingers into the back of Namjoon’s shirt, trying to stabilize myself while reminding my hormones who they belonged to.

They certainly didn’t belong to mysteriously y Yoongi, whose girlfriend was currently in the restroom.

Not to ripped Jimin, who could’ve been the spokesperson for any gym of his choice.

Not to beaming Hoseok, who made me want to smile back wide enough to split my cheeks.

Not to gorgeous Taehyung, who embodied what I imagined perfection to be.

Not to devilish Jungkook, who was nearly my age and reeked of appeal strong enough to turn any girl straight and any guy gay.

And it certainly did not belong to Seokjin, who still grinned like an angel and made my knees weak.

They belonged to Kim Namjoon, who not only looked insecure but nervous about my blushing cheeks and stumbling tongue.  When Jungkook took my hand and shook it, commenting about how close we were to being the same age, my boyfriend finally made a defensive move and prodded me to the front counter, pulling out his wallet to pay for shoes.

“You’re a senior this year, right?” Jimin asked, coming to stand on my right.

“Yes,” I replied, inching a little closer to Namjoon in the process.

“You already knew that,” he sighed, turning to his friend.  “Why ask?”

“I just wanna hear her voice.”

Namjoon stared him down for a second or two before the shorter of the two said anything else.

“A person’s voice tells a lot about them,” he explained himself, leaning an elbow on the counter as two pairs of shoes were dropped in front of us.  “She talks quiet, which means she’s nervous, but she also talks like Hee-Young, so she’s independent.”  Hee-Young was Yoongi’s girlfriend, or so I heard.

“Ok~ay,” Namjoon said absent-mindedly, immediately taking me away by the waist to claim an alley indicated by the attendant.  The boys followed and we all set to putting on the slippery-bottomed bowling shoes we’d been given.

“You look tense,” I whispered to Joon, noticing his anxiety.  He shook his head and gave me a side grin, patting my knee softly when he finished tying up the laces.

“I’m fine.  You were the tense one earlier, Bian,” he started, gripping my elbow, “are you okay?”

“Of course; I’m just a little worried about you.”

“Like I said, nothing to worry about.”  His shoulders relaxed and he stood with his friends, beckoning me to do the same.  “Their personalities don’t quite meet the expectation their faces put them at, so I’m not worried about you dropping me for one of them.”  Namjoon’s eyes flashed with an obvious shade of affection.  “My personality far outweighs theirs.  This-” He gestured between the two of us. “-is in no danger, trust me.”

And he grabbed my (making me jump) before following Seokjin, the last of the others to go find a ball.

Turns out he was right, and while the others were funny, down-right attractive, and pleasant, I never felt like I could talk with any of them for hours on end, discussing the finer and lesser points of life.

Within five minutes of our game, Yoongi’s girlfriend showed up, shocking me into momentary silence.

Tall.  American descent.  Older.

At least ten years older.

She sat down next to Yoongi, his arm finding itself around her waist immediately, his head turning to speak to her, lips near her ear as he said something.  She was pretty, but not someone I ever would’ve imagined any of the boys dating.  She said hello to me and I replied, bowing slightly to my unnie.

“I told you none of the guys would have a problem with us,” my boyfriend suddenly said, startling me by whispering into my ear, hot breath on my cheek.  “Hee-Young is twelve years older than Yoongi.”  Her light chuckles brought a smile to Namjoon’s older friend’s face.  “Four years doesn’t look that bad anymore, does it.”

It wasn’t really a question.

We were sitting down, waiting for our turn, enjoying the quiet chatter and amiable environment; Joon’s arm was around my neck, his other hand on my thigh, fingers carving unintelligible, soft patterns into my skin.  I leaned up, tenderly planting a kiss on his lips.

“It never looked bad.”

He gave my thigh a squeeze and pressed a kiss of his own into my temple, the moment ending as soon as Hoseok tossed an empty solo cup into my lap.

“It’s your turn, little miss senior!”

I got up and grabbed my ball, smirking in Namjoon’s direction as I attempted to bowl correctly.  I wasn’t exactly fantastic.  In fact, the word ‘terrible’ probably could’ve been used just as readily as ‘please never try bowling again.’

But I knabbed an easy seven-pin hit, knocking down one more with the second shot.  I heard clapping behind me, and even though I knew they knew I really at the game, I liked how encouraging they were.

Jungkook commented about me doing really well, earning a complaint from his older brother about how flirting with a friend’s girl was wrong, to which the younger just switched seats to sit next to me, scooching closer to match my boyfriend’s proximity.

“I’m not flirty.  I just like being nice to women.”

“Then go be nice to Hoseok,” Namjoon ordered, shoving his younger friend an arm’s length distance from my side.

“Yah!” Hoseok began, but there wasn’t a single face there that wasn’t smiling.  There wasn’t a single second I spent with them that I didn’t enjoy.  Not even when Yoongi and I talked about the difficulties of dating someone older/younger.  Not when Jimin offered to show me his abs and Namjoon promptly declined for me.

And certainly not when Taehyung told me all about working at a nursery.  God, that boy man was a piece of work.

A piece of ing art masterpiece.

But my favorite part was sitting with Joon, whose palms found a way to crinkle the edges of my clothing, just to smooth them out again.  His hair tickled my forehead, and I made sure to run my fingernails over the ridges of his ribs every so often to keep him on his toes.

“Who knew little miss senior could fit in with a bunch of boring twenty-year-olds,” Seokjin said, eyeing the entire situation up and down.  There were several interjections about not being boring, but my thoughts were flying away to another subject.

In that moment I didn’t care how old I was.  I was old enough to make decisions and I was old enough to judge which people were right and wrong for me, and no one I talked to that night, no one I smiled at or laughed with or kissed in between tries at a strike, no one was wrong.

Kim Namjoon was so right, the perfection of it all stared me in the face, gazed into my eyes, told me silly, sweet things just to see my smile; it joined our mouths even while people looked on, because it loved kissing me more than it loved its pride.

Namjoon couldn’t be wrong if he said the grass had turned purple, because love changed the basic principles upon which every rule and natural law was built on, integrating new ones whenever and wherever it saw fit.

And besides, what color couldn’t grass be turned to with just a little spray paint?

---

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

I hopped out of the truck and practically skipped to the short cement railing that separated the beach from the sidewalk.  There was something about the situation that shook me to the core, making me chuckle, grin, and bit my lip in order to hide it.

I’d always wanted to go night swimming, and the fact that this particular beach banned swimmers after ten, only sparked my interest farther.  I’d been waiting to check this off my list for an eternity, eagerly looking forward to the moment when I could climb that stone wall and feel cold sand under my toes, my sandals already flipped off and stuffed in a small beach bag we brought.

We.

The only thing that could’ve made this night better would’ve been Namjoon, who so gratefully accepted my invitation, his curious attitude always attracted to knowing what the next event would be.

He was cute like that.

“Night swimming?” he asked, and I turned to look at him as I stepped backwards over the barrier and landing in pliably sweeping sand.

“You bet’cha.”

“This date is supposed to top our bowling game with the boys?”

“Yep; let’s go,” I ordered, waving him in the direction of the water, already jogging across the beach lightly, a quick wind snapping around me and turning the waves just choppy enough to splash irritably.

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

There was something so secretive about where we were, so taboo, that I felt my heart race with just that thought of it.  Not really breaking the law, but disregarding authority and doing something we shouldn’t be.

It felt so oddly fulfilling.

Yet made me feel insecure, even weak.

On top of that, being there with her gave me goosebumps, thoughts of how alone we were and how beautiful she must appear under the moon plaguing me.  My risky move of kissing her during the last expedition had paid off and we were dating, but how far did I really want that to go?

At what point would it become wrong?

Did such a point exist?

“Joon~” she called as I crested the cement and found myself on the beach, feet slipping and sliding and sinking amongst the sand.  When I looked up to respond, my world stopped and I found that her already being by the water and her let-down, stunning hair didn’t matter as much as did the fact that Lee Bian was standing in a bikini, glistening waves behind framing her body and hips and waist and hips and arms and hips.

Good lord, she didn’t have much chest, but she had hips.

Just the mere fact that I could see all of them but a thin strip covered by fabric was enough to , and I almost managed to shake the unholy thoughts from my head.

Almost.

“Namjoon, set your bag down over here,” she continued, oblivious to the mental wreckage she had created.

“Yah,” I got out weakly, too quiet for her to hear, but just loud enough for her to know that I’d said something.

“What?”

“Nothing,” I said a little louder, and she smiled, her lips stretching so far I wanted to catch them and kiss them and never have to breathe again.

“Then get over here.”  She turned around, taking in her surroundings and grinning again as I made it to where she stood.  Her eyes swept over everything, it all in as if she were only allowed a moment to look before she went blind.

I was going blind.

So blind that I almost tipped over as I found myself staring so intently I lost my footing.

I stumbled and fell knees-first in the sand, head low in dazed embarrassment and Bian’s laughter ringing in my ears clear as day.

“Get up, you punk; we’re going swimming.”

“I-I-I know,” I whispered, taking a second to breathe in and out and in and out and-

“Then get up and swim.”

“Give me a minute; I have to get ready.”  I slowly inched my shirt up, all the while trying to mask my beating heart and throbbing pulse.  Not only that, but the thought of being shirtless in front of Bian sent uncomfortable shivers streaming over my head, reminding me that I wasn’t muscular and I only just passed as skinny.

I looked a whole lot less impressive when out of my business shirts and fancy pants.

And she was gorgeous.

Do the math.

“I’m already waist-deep,” she called, and I could tell by her wavering voice that she’d waded in, the water probably making her skin sparkle like- “Mr. Kim, your assignment tonight is to hurry up and get your out here with me.”

“I’m trying to-t-t-t-o-to-to-to-t-t-t…”  I sputtered out like a motorboat as I spun around to see none other than her bikini lying on the sand, useless, and her form out amongst the cresting white-tops.

.

Everything below the waist was submerged in water, and she was facing away so that I could only see her , the sight enough to bend a little bit more of me over the edge.  The desirous bit inside my heart that definitely bordered on lust.

Bian laughed, the motion tipping her head back and the tips of her hair into the water, her nose a tiny, miniscule bump against the choppy waves.  “Join me,” she giggled, still not facing me head-on, the responsible side of her leaving for a childishly inappropriate side that I liked just as much, for different reasons.

“I really shouldn’t,” I called back, my voice catching and my throat unbelievably dry.  “I don’t think you should be out there like that.”

“No lifeguard, no rules,” she sang back, twirling with arms around her chest, leaving ripples flowing around her in all directions.  In a mind-numbing moment, I forgot what self-control was and stripped down to my trunks, also forgetting what self-consciousness was.

But then the wind stung me and I couldn’t continue, and seeing her sink into the ocean farther, up to her neck so she could look at me, scared me into keeping my suit on.

“I won’t watch,” she promised light-heartedly, as if I was trying to sing in public for the first time.

“I-I don’t think-”

“Don’t think, Joon,” she urged, fanning her hair out around her childishly and with ease as she turned her back to me.  “Act without thinking for tonight.”  She paused and let the water tug her this way and that, and I felt a little more of my resolve crumble.  “Come on,” Bian begged, using her most innocently y tone to catch me unawares, “I’m cold.”  The ocean seemed to have gotten caught up in her voice, because when she spoke I felt a part of me get swept away.  “Warm me up.”

That did it, and I let my trunks fall into the sand, almost flinching as I realized how exposed I was.  I quickly waded in, submerging myself until just my torso was visible, walking out farther to approach her.

Despite the situation, and our attire (or lack thereof), all I could think about as I came closer was how elegantly the dim moon glinted off her shoulders and her skin, and how stunning the stars looked when braided into her hair.

~~~~

Bian

~~~~

Before Namjoon could catch up with me, I pushed my way through the oppressing waves and kept at least five feet of empty expanse between us.  When I caught sight of his face, he looked not only subtly betrayed, but confusedly mislead.

“Did I come out here just to chase you?” he asked, and I saw how the cold sent gooseflesh up and down his arms.

“No,” I replied, still moving farther out until I no longer had to crouch to keep my chest covered.  Flat-footed and up to my collarbone in the sea, I backpedaled farther so that I could watch him as he continued out too.  “You came to be with me.”

“How can I do that from here?” he asked, and though he sounded annoyed, I could see the amusement in his face and eyes and twitching smile, coupled by the apprehension in his brow.

“You just can,” I said, and he chuckled despite his obvious discomfort.  “Come closer.”

“You’re not letting me.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Bian, wait; Bian-” he suddenly started, but I couldn’t hear the rest as the ground beneath my feet fell away and my head was swept below the surface.

I gurgled out a strangled cry as my heart dropped to my toes and stopped all at the same time, unable to see even an inch in front of me.

Then arms were under my armpits and I could breathe again and I saw the flickering light of the moon shining above Namjoon’s head, casting shadows on his perfect features.

“Bian!” he exclaimed, pulling me to where the bottom could be touched and never tugging me a centimeter closer than what he needed to.  His eyes never left mine and even as we stood in waist-high water, he never looked down.  Not once.

I sputtered and coughed to the side, one of his hands on my upper back and trying to rub away the horror that stung me sharply.

“Are you okay?” he asked, eyes wide and scared and mouth hanging open as I regained the ability to breathe.  “I saw the drop-off buoy just as you came to it, and I tried to tell you…”  He trailed off and every emotion within me turned to adoration and affection and warmth, all for him.  As I pushed away the thought of whatever had just happened, he searched my face for something.  For an answer.

And as he tried to ask again, tried to explain himself again, I gave him something.

I gave him more than an answer.

I kissed him, hard and passionate and full of something other than saltwater.  He balked and pulled away, flustered and tripping over words he couldn’t get out as I kissed him again.

Namjoon wouldn’t touch me, couldn’t bring himself to kiss back until I pressed close, pulling our chests together and poking my tongue past his lips.  It was only when I showed him how earnestly I wanted him that he let his arms circle my waist and hips, fingers gripping slick skin and somehow finding purchase in the turbulent waves.

His lips crushed mine, one of my arms hugging his shoulders tight and the other hand gripping fistfuls of hair roughly, needing him nearer than was possible.

And we pushed so close together than the ground gave out from beneath us again, and we fell on the sand, intertwined and tangled and tangling further and faster and without any sign of stopping.

And perhaps I had loved him for longer, much longer than I’d acknowledge, but that was the moment I realized it.

That was the pivotal moment in my life when I realized I was so deep in love with Kim Namjoon, that I was past the point of return, and there was no turning back; but I was perfectly okay with that.

Because in between his kisses and his lips and his hands and his arms, amongst the words barely managed by his collapsing lungs, deep inside the hums of pleasure that ricocheted throughout my very bones, I could feel that he felt the same way.

And that was all I’d ever wanted from him.

~~~~~~~

Namjoon

~~~~~~~

"Sweetie!" she called from the bathroom, and I looked up from the book I was reading on the bed to see her head peeking out the door.  "I forgot a towel."

"Well, that's alright," I said, clearly smiling and enjoying the situation.  But even as she scowled and I told her to walk out and get it herself, I was already getting up to fetch one.  "Here," I huffed, handing her what she wanted, tempted to pull her from the bathroom and wrap the towel around her myself, stopping only because I wanted to continue reading.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

Two years had passed since the last time we did anything legally irresponsible, both of us finding contentment in what we'd done and never really wanting to risk anymore of ourselves for an illegal thrill.  We thrilled ourselves just fine from the comfort of my house, recently her house as well.  Moving in had been big, but our relationship was clearly stable enough to warrant forward momentum.

I'd occasionally thought of marraige, never daring to bring up the topic, primarily because I constantly tried to keep in mind that she was only twenty.  I was twenty-four, and nearing the part of my life that she hadn't yet begun to think about.  A family could come a little later, though, and whenever she kissed me, hugged me, or even said my name in a conversation, I was reminded that I didn't really need anything other than her to feel fulfilled.

Her and my job, which was going strong and mainly unaffected about our now very public relationship, which both parents and friends were aware of at this point.  No one had taken the liberty to contact the school district, and I remained a rising star amongst the foregin language department.

Truly nothing could compare to the looks of my kids when I told them how old I was, or how many questions they had when they realized I spoke the language inside and out.  Teaching was such a passion of mine, and I'd always been exceptional in school, the educational system only seemed fitting for my career choice.

Bian loved the fact that I taught as well, always asking questions and trying to converse in English.  She was so adorable I had to, at times, burst out in chuckling laughs that she couldn't deflate by even kissing me full on the mouth.

There wasn't much I regretted.  Not even being unable to spend my childhood more appropriately.

Because every time Lee Bi An back-hugged me, and every time she butterfly-kissed her way up my neck, and every time she giggled so girly I watched her cheeks redden, it made me realize that with her I was young again.  I was youthful.  I was better than I could ever be without her.

And that made every moment worth it.

Every dissaproving stare disappear.

Every kiss become the best.

Every time I saw a bar, or cinema, or graffiti, or ocean become a million times more enjoyable than they would've been without.

And all because I was willing to drive forty-five minutes for my first drink at a bar that was supposed to be fabulous.

Well, what I found there had been beyond fabulous.

It was flawless.

 

 

Oh my goodness.  This was so long.  This literally took so long for me to write, and I'm so sorry.  I hope it was at least satisfactory.  Thanks for reading, my beautiful, lovely little readers.  It means the world to me.  :D