You stood stunned as you followed the professor out of the car and towards a small building located a few roads down,
a small sign lit up by the front entrance to introduce the continental-style cafe.
And soon, your footsteps became the only sound that engulfed the silence between the two of you, apart from the faint music heard in the background of the shop as you walked inside the small vintage bistro, instantly greeted by an older lady at the front counter.
"Hi, could I get a medium black coffee, 1 sugar." Professor Jeon ordered. Then, he turned to you, as if to ask for what you wanted. "Oh um, I'll get the same." You mumbled and he nodded, conversing with the cashier once more.
It was nothing short of a struggle to mask the shock that had overcome you when the professor offered to take you here - by sheer force of his own will, for that matter.
And you still found it rather hard to believe that his principles were so boundless. After all, you were a student... his student.
If he was doing this out of mere pity, then you'd much rather be anywhere else right now. The last thing thing you wanted was to elaborate on things that did not need to be said, to someone like him, no less.
However, you knew he was cunning man.
His insight confined any form of limit,
and at times, it seemed like nothing could cloud his authentic judgement. Essentially, you also found him to be rather thoughtful.
He showed his compassion in the only way he found possible, and that was through his actions. His proposal to buy you a coffee earlier was a perfect example of that fact. And frankly. you'd be lying to yourself if you said you weren't beginning to see him in another light.
Was that really a good enough reason to stay though?
Once the lady began making your coffees, Mr. Jeon took a shuddering breath, stealing a glance at you once more before mumbling, "You can go find a table, I'll get the drinks." And so, you took a seat by the far table in the corner and just... waited.
As it appeared, your phone was on the brink of dying and you had nothing to do while waiting. Without distractions, however, you took the opportunity to truly admire Mr. Jeon's physique, your eyes trailing down his every feature.
Without a doubt could you say that he was an extravagant man, and the appeal was only aided by his appearance; his legs looked so long in deep blue slacks, his shirt the color of the summer sky, his narrow silk tie the same shade as his pants.
The combined shades made his eyes look brighter, more colorful than usual, gleaming under the dim cafe lights.
It felt wrong. To be staring at your literature professor in such an aspect, in a way no student should be looking at their teacher. But you found yourself unable to turn away.
The sleeves of his dress shirt were now rolled up to his elbows, so you caught glimpse of the ink that trailed from the back of his hand to the very end of his sleeve.
And although this wasn't your first time seeing them, you were still just as enthralled to say the least. Each of the simple yet detailed lines formed designs that kissed the skin layering over his right arm, and all your attention was easily swept away by just the professor alone.
However, while you continued to study the details found in the man standing before you, your trance was soon torn when the sound of his voice brought you back to reality, your eyes meeting with his.
"Your coffee." His body towered over yours as he lent you your coffee, soon taking the seat to the fore of you. "Thanks." You awkwardly replied, blowing softly on the steaming beverage before taking a small sip out of the cup.
You then broke the ice, saying, "This is a nice place. Do you come here often?"
To your surprise, he found an immediate response. "Often might be a bit of an understatement. I always find myself passing by here on occasion. It's quaint, cozy... almost like the rooftop I met you at that night. It's a perfect escape, if need be."
An escape?
"An escape from what?" You found yourself asking without the realization of doing so, letting your nosiness get the better of you. He met your gaze, his eyes cold and blank... and instantly, this led you to believe that you'd crossed the line.
"O...Oh, sorry. I shouldn't have. That was out of line." Surprisingly, however, he paid no attention to it. Rather, he shrugged it off. "To answer your question," He started, "It's an escape from reality. As harsh as that may seem, it's something we cannot avoid." You hummed, taking another sip out of your drink. "And you?"
His words were enough to bring you to an abrupt halt, the beating of your heart escalating suddenly. "Sorry?"
"Your escape. What is it?" Your... escape?
Thinking back to all the memories you'd made in the past, the small visages of the past that you cherished above all else.
Which of these memories did you cherish the most? Which of them, was suited to call an escape. Oh, that's right.
"The piano." You muttered with your head hung low, your voice just below a whisper.
As always, he remained utterly silent... a clear indication for you to elaborate.
Your hands trembled slightly with the cup of steaming dark liquid you held in your hands, the strong aroma of caffeine reaching your nostrils. At that very moment, you couldn't help but wonder if that had been the right answer.
But your thoughts and notions were endless, and you weren't exactly in the right state of mind to judge that fact. So, you continued as you were.
"It's something I've adored doing ever since I was a child. Though some may argue that it's just a stringed musical instrument with black and white keys,
in reality, it is so much more than that." Seeing as though he still hadn't stopped you from talking yet, you took this as a sign to further continue with your little rambling.
After all, this was a topic you could talk about for hours upon hours on end, and you'd never get tired of it. You presumed this was the true power of music, compelling, vivid— in and of itself.
"Those who are truly passionate about the piano are able to press the keys with such characteristic elegance and confidence that they always seem to portray on stage. And once they reach the ending of a piece without making any mistakes... accompanied only by the sound of that one final note - the feeling that comes afterwards is nothing short of pure bliss."
Just like that, all the memories you had of these moments began flooding back to you one after another.
You remembered the elegant way you would braid Andrea's hair, and the waves they left in her blond locks the next day.
As a kid, Andrea had loved her hair so much that she'd practically beg you to put her own hair in twin braids every day so that they would come out wavy.
You remembered the times when you'd play simple symphonies on the piano in an empty room, and how she'd bother you non-stop about wanting to stay with you after school to hear you play.
This one day, she had even surprised you with a plate full of sweets for your 18th birthday, whether they were cookies, tarts, or even strudels. Whenever you begged her to tell you how she made her desserts so effortlessly tasty, she would just smile and shake her head. "Chef's secret," she would reply with a wink.
Now, you could no longer see her smile or hear her laugh. You'd never hear your name come out of her mouth, or have another taste of her baking.
She had been taken from you, and you were powerless to stop it.
Just then, the look in your eyes could tell it all. Almost like you held a story behind those glassy hues of yours. The hurt, longing, regret. But perhaps that was the reason why only he could read you like an open book. Because he was one to experience those same feelings.
"Am I wrong to assume that you are one of those people?" His eyes searched yours for answers. "Passionate about the piano, portraying confidence and elegance when on stage." Your breath hitched for a brief moment before you glanced downwards with a lost expression, your throat constricting tightly.
"I don't know..." You answered truthfully, as much as it pained you to say it aloud.
"I was one of these people," Your fingers clenched onto the fabric of your shirt, "I'm not sure if I have the right to say I still am."
"Why is that?" Quite frankly, you didn't know the answer to that question either.
To you, being that kind of person would be a hope... a delight. And you wished you could earn yourself that entitlement, blurt out right then and there the exact words you wanted him to hear. However, no matter how great the demand, you couldn't bring yourself to do so.
So, what did you do instead? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
A part of you found it rather amusing the way you were acting. You were the one who came here for answers, and yet, the second you were put to question, you were left frozen with nothing to say in response.
"You wanna know what I think?" Frozen in the moment as you held his lingering gaze, the longer you sat and stared, the more your heart suddenly throbbed in ache.
You nodded your head, albeit hesitantly.
He straightened his posture, looking at you with a candid face. "I think that you are a coward." As if all the air had just been taken from your lungs, your whole body immediately stiffened and you bit your lower lip harshly, turning your head to the side out of shame. Coward.
"You once had something to cherish, something that you held so close to your heart. And yet, it seems to me as if you chose let it go. Why?" His unwavering tone convinced you of his earnestness.
"I can't answer that."
"Because you are a coward."
Fuck.
"How do you expect to survive out in the real world if you can't come to terms with your own modern realties?" He pressed on further and you winced slightly at his piercing words.
Upon noticing this, a soft sigh escaped his lips as he then said in a softened tone, "Listen, I get it, alright? You're suffering, you're hurt, and I'm sorry for whatever it is that is causing you this pain. But using your studies as a distraction to your agony will not make your situation any better. This is killing you, Y/N. I can see it, and I can assure you everyone else can as well."
Mr. Jeon was witted, you'd give him that. He was quick with his words, careful with every piece of elevation he uttered, despite how harsh they were made out to be. Nonetheless, you could tell that he was trying his best to act civilized.
In this case, he found himself genuinely indulged, and you couldn't help but wonder whether or not that fact was a good thing. "This won't go on forever. Can't you see? I'm willing to change, to make things better."
"Does that matter? I'm talking about now. Not the present, nor the future."
You fell silent.
When your eyes flicked to him, his face now appeared as a different colour, a shade of empathy that you've never once seen him wear before.
"I know who you are, who you once were... when you first came to this college. And I stood idly by as time passed and you slowly began to lose yourself. Just for how long will you endure this, Y/N?" His voice managed to stay quiet and gentle, as if he were careful of somebody overhearing.
He understood, sympathized, though he wasn't directly responsible for your situation. Unfortunately, you had that weight to carry for yourself, in the moments before and even now.
"Until I am satisfied." You then answered.
Frankly, you didn't care how long it would take for you to become the person you once were. All that mattered was that you'd succeed. You'd graduate college, find who you were, and move on.
If only that was realistic.
"But I'm afraid."
You nearly choked on your words, burying your face into your hands. "You said it yourself, I lost who I was. I've become a stranger to my own reflection, and now,
I feel like my writing is what truly define's me above all else. After you brought it up that day, I realized that it was the only thing I still had going for me. So, I figured that I'd start things there... with you."
You hunched over more, coiling further into yourself as if that would give you some sense of protection from the topic.
Meanwhile, the professor didn't dare to so much as breathe – he just stayed still and let you speak to your hearts content, saving any thoughts or actions for the extremely distressing moments when he couldn't just sit there and do something besides listening.
Because listening seemed to be the only form of comfort you truly needed at the moment.
"Should I be proud of the person I've become? Or should I be shameful of the fact that I let it all go?"
Beginning to choke on your words, you stopped talking to gather your thoughts, afraid to meet with his eyes. You were scared of what he would say, of what he thought of you.
But then again, the question was why?
Since when did you become so mindful of the things he believed in? Since when did you begin yearning for his comfort and presence? Since when did you...
You paused, because at that point, Professor Jeon reached out to touch you, his hand resting on the top of your head for a few seconds as he stared at you with wide eyes for your revelation. You nearly teared up.
Then, he mumbled, "Neither."
Nothing about any of this made any sense; not the hostility of his demeanour contradicting the alarming implications of his words, and not the strange mix of emotions you could somehow detect he was hiding behind his guarded façade.
Was it wariness, apprehension... guilt, even? The emotions finding its way to the surface through his eyes, the lines of his jaw and mouth.
Oh.
He was worried.
"Just live, Y/N."
Live, Y/N.
You trembled upon hearing his words, so simply put yet so impactful.
Right then and there, something shined differently in the way he was looking at you. It wasn't a literature professor, nor a mere superior you saw, but rather...
Just him.
You saw, for the briefest of seconds... a person with a kind heart. He was gentle with the way he was handling you, as if you were a piece of delicate glass, ruffling your hair in a tender manner.
And you liked it. You liked his touch... the feeling it brought you— though it felt so wrong to do so.
"Tell me professor, what am I supposed to do now?" You asked after a few moments of ongoing silence. He received his hand from the top of your head and you tried your best to ignore the sense of ache you'd felt from the absent of his warmth.
"Well, you could start with refraining from calling me, 'professor,' in public."
"What?!" You exclaimed, stunned, before letting out a weak chuckle, "How else should I address you then?"
Then, without hesitation, he answered,
"Jungkook."
»»————- ————-««
authors note
Things are finally beginning to get started, and I am beyond excited to post the next upcoming parts!
This story has definitely become a favourite of mine... so much so that I've decided to make a playlist for all of you to listen to while reading.
That'll be posted soon, so please look forward to that.
And as always, I hope you enjoy this chapter!
❥
{bngtnangel on instragam}