Between Truths ║Dahkook║K.DH J.JK

changing orbits

CHAPTER XII

Dahyun put down her pen neatly amidst the mess of opened books, papers of notes and foolscap of illegible scrawls. Then inhaled deeply as she stretched. Tensed muscles from her neck down to her back exhaled in relief at the pull. She stayed that way longer, lids opening to bask in the night. Many did not like this particular studying spot because it was on the top sixth floor and semi-outdoor, at the mercy of the swinging moods of the weather. Even now, Dahyun was alone. But she liked it here. She liked how the stadium lights were bright against the black sky; how the boisterous sounds from various activities below filled the silence. A haven far enough for her to be alone in her solitude but near enough that she did not have to fight from drowning in loneliness.

The voices soon quietened and scarce minutes later the lights dimmed. Practice had never run this late, and she never stayed as long before. But as the term raced along, there seemed to be more things to do, so time went by without her notice.

The eery stillness made her realise how deep the night had gotten. The few bulbs above her fought valiantly against the chill, but it was quickly turning to be futile. Dahyun warred against going home, afraid that the temptation of bed and sleep would claim her, but staying would be pointless. The solitude was now making her restless, rendered her useless. A sudden gust of wind swept through the area. Her skin prickled with it. 'That was it'—she was packing up.

Just as the thought appeared, she heard someone rush up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. It was unwitting, but her breathing slowed, and the cardigan around her felt like it could keep her warm again. It reminded her of that first time he came. The silence was almost as haunting that she was ready to leave too. His thundering steps made her heart suffocate with adrenaline before she could, but he was only a person who wanted to share the space with her. She did not scrutinize his person then. Had only been glad he was there.

By the end of that week, she had not faltered when the comforting buzz stilled or when the blackness swallowed the night. The forlornness never managed to claim her before he was there to chase them away. It might have been one-sided, but it felt as if they had settled into some sort of routine. He would walk in, every night, just minutes after the stadium lights went off, his footsteps light and quick. And when one packed up to leave, they would do so slowly as if to wait for the other to finish up too.

It was only a matter of time. It was only so long that she could pointedly ignore someone's presence. It was getting harder to not be curious about the person that was sharing the place in silence. And when she stole her first glance at the boy who sat across her three tables down, he was no longer a faceless stranger with whom she found a peculiar camaraderie in their nightly study sessions.

The days that followed, she found herself noticing his presence. It was not as if she had looked out for him. There was only that silent observation, 'ah, he's here,' and she knew what he looked like. Although, she soon started paying attention to the boy who had stepped into view after the night became lonely. He was always there. Without a fail.

She took a glimpse at his face anytime she wanted. Shameless. Without holding back. He always had his head down, the dutiful hand towel around his neck, hair half-dried from the shower. He became a person. He was hard-working. He was steady. He was athletic. He was comforting. He was unbelievably handsome. With the kind of face very little could deny his beauty. Jungkook—she knew his name; heard people call him in passing.

"You're still here," he said, standing in front of her table now.

"It didn't feel late. Your stadium lights were still on, I can still hear people cheering," She returned the sudden familiarity he was treating her with; schooled her expression from the surprise it evoked.

"There is a change of timetable. They are clearing most days for the official team to practise. The rest of us gets Mondays and Tuesdays. Lesser days, longer sessions."

She understood his meaning—he did not make it into the Sixteen. She had never seen him play, but it seemed unfair that he had not with his dedication. It also felt like a sensitive topic.

"Will you be staying back?"

"You're already leaving?" He glanced at her half-packed items on the table.

"I could stay. If you are," she offered. Adding, "I still have some things left to finish anyways."

He nodded, and slipped his hands into his jeans pocket, pulling something out. He brought his opened palm close for her to see. Dahyun frowned—she could not make sense of what he was offering, or why. There was always a fortified wall around him. He never spared her a glance before; less would he start a conversation—or stay to finish it.

"It's a car key," he cleared, as she was making a shape of it.

"Mine?" She asked too soon. It was hers—her eyes traced the familiar black, and the wooden keychain hanging off it, old and beloved, with her initials engraved on it.

"I found it nearby, and you've been leaving without your car." Pause, "Is it not yours?"

She reached for his retreating hand, "It's mine. Thank you," she said, quiet, cold fingers grazing his bare wrist. She felt the flutter of his pulse and let go immediately, scorched. "Sit here? It rained all afternoon. The benches are all wet. I've wiped down mine so you won't have to yours."

He looked around and found it to be true. Nodding, he sat at the end of the table and she gingerly moved closer to the other end too, careful to keep as much distance as she could between them. But he was still so close, the easy breeze perfumed the air around her with his fresh shower. The little scratches his watch made every time he dragged it against the table made her want to glance up every time.

She gave up fighting it, and slid her unopened sandwich towards him. He looked up from his papers, deep midnight eyes full of secrets studied her openly now. 'What's this?' They seemed to say.

"I took some back from an event," she explained.

"I'm not hungry."

"Even after all that running?" Her lips quirked with disbelief. "It's breezy tonight, have a bite. It's always nice to have something to munch on, even if you're not hungry."

He watched her only for a beat longer, but did not reject it for a second time, pushing the other half back to her, "You should eat too."

"I had one before you got here." Elbows propped on desk, fingers intertwining, cheeks on them, she watched him behind her laptop, "Is it good?"

"I'm not picky."

"You're just busy?"

"Sometimes."

"Other times?"

"I'm used to it. It doesn't seem important."

She wondered more about him from this distance. "Your friends—they don't ask where you go every night?"

"They know where to find me," his brows furrowing. He pulled a little away from her, brows furrowed, and the chocolate milk she was about to pass him sat between them, dismal. She gave him a final smile, and quietly returned to her reading after.

He felt real, and this felt fragile. He filled her with a warmth she was not used to, and took it away as easily too. She was not good at letting go. She wished for them to settle back into their comfortable routine, both on different orbits, far but never colliding. Because she wanted to continue seeing him. 'Maybe, forever.'

But wishes were stars—they were corporal, they were not hers to touch, and on the rare times she longed for them, they always hurtled towards her, meteors ready to destroy her again.