JIMIN
Things don't look the same at night.
That's the first thought that crossed my mind when I unlocked Professor Min's classroom door and stepped inside. It didn't take me long to slip away from everyone with my backpack and into the quiet humanities building that even the janitors left alone for the night.
I originally sat at my desk, too afraid to move and draw attention to myself, but retreated to his couch after sitting in the dark awkwardly twiddling my thumbs. Once my head hit the soft fabric, I don't remember what happened after.
Then, slowly, I pick up on the taps of knocking on wood, the sudden sound waking me up. My head is fuzzy, and it takes me a moment to peel my eyelids apart, rolling to my side and adjusting my vision to the darkness of the office.
Distant memories of Trivia Night play out, and I begin to remember my triumph when I showed off my nerd-side for all things Disney. I had never felt so alive reciting things that were supposed to be lost to me years ago. And seeing that I was being encouraged just made it all the more exciting.
Swallowing around my cotton mouth, I drag myself out from the couch and trudge to the door. I open it, and Professor Min stands outside, surprised by my appearance. I haven't looked in a mirror, but judging from his concern that spreads across his face, it must be pretty rough.
"Did you fall asleep?" He asks as he closes the door behind him, not bothering to turn on the lights.
I give a grunt, too tired to speak. It's gradually getting harder for me to keep my eyes open. I yawn so big I almost feel my jaw breaking.
"You can use the couch if you want," Professor Min offers. "I need to straighten out a few things anyway."
Groaning, I slowly walk back into his office and flop down on the couch. I'm short enough where I only have to bend my legs slightly, almost a perfect fit. I shut my eyes and feel myself already drifting away. I have no idea what time it is, and honestly, it doesn't matter. Curfews don't scare me when Professor Min is in my corner.
It doesn't take me long to dream, but I'm aware of the dream, and it throws me off. In my subconscious, I'm in a blank room looking at a deep blue painting. It's only paint strokes of blue, all varied in width and length, but all make up one big blue painting. Behind me is a paintbrush with a vibrant yellow tip.
I pick it up absentmindedly and brush it against the blue painting. The colors mix instantly, but not into a new green color. They swirl together while keeping their own colors. Like skating on ice, the colors dance around each other until meeting in the middle and spin in harmony.
It's beautiful, and I watch contently until I hear something like the taps again. But that's not it. These taps are too quiet, too muffled.
Then my dream fades, and my conscious returns. My muscles tense and relax as I try to gather everything that has happened, try to collect the fragments of my dream my memory will allow me to replay.
I suddenly feel a presence near me. Before I can open my eyes, a soft material grazes my arm and drapes over my shoulders. I recognize the smell first. It's Professor Min's cardigan. Which means that he's standing right above me.
For some reason, my body doesn't understand how to be relaxed. As he leans over me and tucks the end of the cardigan closer to me, his fingers brush my arm. I inhale sharply and slowly open my eyes to see dark, almost black eyes staring down at me while I blink awake.
He goes to move, but my hand grabs his wrist limply, and I feel his breath catch. I've never touched him like this; it was always him who touched first, and that was only my hands. This, although it's not far from our original place, feels much different.
"Okay," he whispers so low it's almost inaudible. He sits on the edge of the couch by my legs, careful to give me more room. "I'll stay with you."
I'll probably regret this later when I'm fully awake, but right now, it feels so peaceful to have him here, I'm finding it hard to care. I slide my hand up his wrist, releasing him and running lazy fingers up and down his skin. Goosebumps appear, and I continue the motion, too glossed over to ask if I'm being too much.
"Jimin."
"Hm?"
"This is. . . " he trails off. "This is too much."
Slowly, I sit up and brush my fingers down his hands. I hook his thumb and wrap my entire hand around it. "Is this too much?"
His eyes flash and he leans in, closer now where I can see his outline in the shadows. The size difference between us has never been so noticeable until now, and I'm not sure where to go next.
But he takes over, folding his hand under my palm and carefully raising it up until our hands link together, his thumb protecting my own. It's a motion that sends a spark through me.
"What about this?" He asks. "Is this too much?"
My tongue peeks out and sweeps across my bottom lip. "I don't think it's enough."
"Jimin. . . "
He pulls back, our fingers untangling, and I'm left reaching out for him. I'm desperate to know what he tastes like. It's not a want; it's a need, one that I've been denying ever since I first walked into his classroom.
"Please," I beg.
"Jimin, listen to yourself," Professor Min demands. "Do you really understand what you're asking of me? What risks you're putting both of us in? Because once we commit, we will both hold labels that have the power to take both of us down."
He blinks fast, shaking his head. "I can't do that to you. It's wrong."
I let a minute of silence envelop us before I crawl forward. I move my hand to his cheek, so slow my hand shakes. His movements halt completely and I lock him in a heavy gaze.
"What if I want this? If I kiss you right here, right now, would you stop me?"
His eyes falter. Then he leans forward. I close my eyes and wait for his lips, but feel nothing on mine. Instead, I feel a soft kiss on the crown of my head, innocent and soft.
I tilt my head up, and that's when I feel his lips on mine. His mouth is soft. Softer than I expected.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know that logically, I'm supposed to be pulling away. I'm supposed to be screaming and kicking and running away, fighting him and calling the police for sexual assault. But I don't.
As selfish as this might make me, it's been a while since anything has felt good in my life. I've never been cared for like this, so carefully and with a restricting pull that makes this kiss all the more revealing to sink into.
There's one closed-lipped kiss, and once his hands run up my arms, he pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. He makes a humming sound, and then there's an open kiss that makes a tingle surge between my body, between my legs.
He must sense this because he doesn't stop.
I've been kissed before, but the way Professor Min devours me— like he can't stand being away from me for another second, like I'm the only one in his world— shows me that maybe I've never experienced a true kiss before.
I moan into the kiss, my eyelids fluttering closed as he pulls me closer, his hands rising to tilt my head back like he needs to taste more, to get deeper. I sink into his hold, my arms wrapping around his neck and fingers digging into his long hair.
His arm finds my waist and pulls me closer until not a single centimeter is left between us, his cock pressing against my torso, thick and large and something that I'm suddenly very desperate to feel.
Then he gasps and draws back. "Wait. . . wait," he whispers. I can practically hear the pain in his voice, and it breaks my heart. "This is all a giant red flag. I— you shouldn't have these— these feelings for me."
His eyes stare at me in horror and sorrow, and I feel like I've been doused in acid. My eyes start to water, but I keep my voice low, steady. "But I do care about you."
He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. "Do you understand the gravity of what you're saying? People will notice, and right or wrong, they will make their opinions heard."
"So? Screw the people."
"No. Think about this. Think about the sentence that you just said." He shakes his head, tightens his jaw. "We need to stop or else you will face getting expelled. And I can't let that happen. We should. . . we should. . . "
I try really hard to focus on him, but my body is needy and my mind is rebelling, and I don't want to think about any repercussions. I want to feel him on me again, and the second I lean forward and slip my tongue down his throat, he falls silent.
A small moan escapes me and he shudders at my sound. When he takes my face in his hands, there's a slight tremble to his hold. He looks at me for the longest time before turning away and walking out of his office.