Between The Books ~ A BTS X OC Fanfic

Chapter 1 ~ Car Trouble

When someone asks you what your ideal day is, and you answer going to school, I instantly think you are (at least) a little bit insane. No offence or anything, but your interest in learning almost makes me want to cry. Not only that, but it raises a shit ton of questions. Are you okay? Are you being forced to say that? Did you hit your head recently? Are you sick? Oh my god is it contagious?

Don't get me wrong, school is fine. I have nothing against it. Except for the fact that I'm spending my valuable time learning a bunch of stupid bull shit I will never need in my entire life (except to pass the class, which raises the question as to why I'm learning it in the first place).

Me and school just aren't a good fit for each other. I'm terrible at taking tests (thank you, anxiety, for making my grade plumet every time I take a test); I suck at gym (I blame whoever made the rubber balls so hard and the person who put me in the same class as the people who have been playing sports since they could walk); I can't even begin to tell you my hatred of math (I won't use 90% of the shit they try to force into my brain, and, let's be honest, the teachers, no matter how hard they try, can never make the class even remotely fun); I hate whoever decided to make children read books with racial slurs and memorize dates of battles for class (fuck you, whoever you are). Point is, school sucks and I will never agree otherwise.

Yet here I am, a nineteen year old student choosing (gross) to go to college. Oh, yeah, another thing I hate about school: I have to "choose" to take four extra years to get the only job I'm currently interested in. Also debt. I fucking hate drowning in student loans. (doesn't everybody?)

But despite the rage that boils in me every time I hear the words school, homework, gym and math, I'm still attending because I have bills to pay, food to buy, and weird things to impulsively purchase off Amazon, so let's do this.

My first day of class begins today and, I have to admit, I'm kind of excited to go (as I should be because I will be paying my hard earned cash for it until I'm at least thirty). Plus, and you didn't hear this from me, but I heard the teachers were smokin' hot. I'm so lonely . . .

But I'm here to learn things, not stare at the teachers. I-I need to pay attention, but . . .

Before leaving the house I look in the mirror one last time as I do the mental checklist I do every day before I leave the comfort of my home; Bra? Check. Shirt? Check. Pants? Check. Shoes? Check. Cute book bag I got off of Amazon? Check. Water bottle? Check. Book so I can pretend to read when I really just don't want to talk to people? Oh shit, where . . . oh, here it is. Check. (Can't leave home without that one.)

I take a moment after my checklist to look myself over. My dark brown hair is tied back in a ponytail with a small braid on the left side of my head going into it. The front of my yellow and white shoulder block tee tucked into my baggy ripped jeans; my checkered vans sticking out in contrast. My light brown skin dotted with acne making my nose crinkle. No matter what I try, the acne never goes away. At this point, It'll be there when I'm ninety.

It's not that I think acne is bad or anything, but, let's be honest, hardly any people that are nineteen have acne. They just don't. Most people I know say they've never had any. Liars.

I sigh, grabbing my car keys off the side table by the door and walk out into the brisk morning air. I'm not much of a morning person, but I tend to be happier at dawn rather than late at night. So maybe I am a morning person? I honestly don't know or care at this point.

My car is a silver SUV that I managed to snatch from my parents when I moved out for college. The interior is a sand colored leather that, when wearing shorts, manages to stick to my legs so I have to rip them off the seat. Which is why I'm wearing jeans. Well, that and it's chilly today.

I turn the key in the ignition (yes, some cars still need you to do that) and begin to slowly back out of the driveway. Sometimes in my neighborhood cars park on the street instead of the driveway and it can be hard to see when backing —

Crunch! Crash! Shatter!

I'm jerked forward in my seat, my head knocking against my steering wheel. I clutch it and wince, pulling down my sun visor and opening the flap concealing the mirror. There's a bit of a red spot on my forehead where I was hit, but there isn't any blood or scrapes, so I'm not really worried at the moment.

A hand rapps against my window and I jump a little before opening my door and stepping out.

"I'm so sorry," the hand, who I now see belongs to a very attractive man (not that that's really important right now) says. "I'll pay for any damages done. Are you okay? I couldn't see you because of the cars parked on the street. I'll make it up to you. Look, I'm a waiter at a diner a few blocks away. You know, the one with the outdoor seating?" I nodd. "I'll pay for your meal. Just come down any time and ask for Kim Taehyung. How does that sound?"

I nod before clutching my head and leaning against my car for support.

"Oh my god are you okay?" Taehyung asks, placing his steady arms on mine and searching my eyes for answers.

"I, um," I say, his eyes making me lose my train of thought. "I feel a little light headed. I think I should probably go to the hospital. Which way is that?"

He frowns at me slightly, his eyes wandering my face. "I'll take you. You can't drive in your condition and it's the least I can do since I was the one that hit you. Here," he says, giving me a set of keys and pointing to his own car, "get in the passenger seat while I park your car at your home so no one else hits it. I'm assuming your house is the one your car is in front of?"

"Yep, that's the one," I say, taking the keys in my hand and sliding them between my fingers. "Thank you. For everything. Seriously, most people would've hit my car and kept driving."

He scoffs. "People don't actually do that, it's just something people write in books and movies to add drama to the story."

"That's happened to me more than once," I tell him, relishing the surprised look on his face. "You're the first one that's ever stopped."

"Wow, um," Taehyung pulls me into a hug and I don't hesitate to wrap my arms around him. "That's awful, I'm so sorry."

I just shrug, not really knowing what to say.

"Oh!" he says, pulling away just enough to see my face. "I'm being very rude. I never got your name."

"It's Tasha. Tasha Kim. Or Kim Tasha, whichever way you wish to say it."

"Oh," he says. "Not to be rude, but that sounds like a Korean name and you . . ."

"Don't look Korean?" I ask. He nodds at the ground, embarrassed at his question. "My father is South Korean, my mother is from India. I'm a mix."

He just nods. "Sorry, it was rude of me to ask. I'm going to park your car. The keys are still in the ignition?"

He leaves without waiting for an answer and I'm left standing in the road. I walk over to his car and open the passenger door, sitting down and leaning my head against the window. The cold glass against my head sends a tingle of relief through me, and I begin shifting my head position over the glass every couple seconds as the glass warms beneath my touch.

I don't know how I always seem to find myself in these positions. But at least this time I ran into a super hot guy and not a 90 year old man that shouldn't even be driving in the first place. Not that that's happened before . . . I shudder with the thought just as Taehyung opens the driver's side door and hopes in.

"You ready for this?" He asks. I nod. "Then let's go."