JIMIN
No matter which way I look at things, it all feels hopeless.
Maybe I should run straight to Yoongi's room right now and tell him everything, specifically the part where his teacher-friend, Namjoon, is looped in my never-ending lie that has grown too big, overflowing and swallowing me whole.
But what would he do?
When he finds out I'm the one who caused the discord between them, the one who planted the idea that Namjoon had something to do with our stunts we pull, what would he say to me, the one who carried his secrets and tossed them to the wind? The thought of telling Yoongi and having him hate me, or worse, having him find out after Eomma makes a scene, is like razor blades slicing my insides.
And then my mind reels back to when it was just us. Sweet, gentle Yoongi who has never done anything wrong other than fall in love with me. I can't help but wonder how different his life would be if it weren't for me.
I make the decision to spend every minute of tonight trying to convince him that I did this out of my own panic, that this is my fault and I'm going to make it right somehow. We'll find another way to be together.
Taking a deep breath, I stand from the bench and make it to the stairway that leads to Professor Kim's class. I'm sure he doesn't know about me hiding in Yoongi's office during the Halloween party, but I don't have a perfected poker face to make it look like I don't know anything. I reach out and turn the doorknob, peeking my head in to see Professor Kim at his desk and Hoseok sitting at his seat.
I hesitate before walking in, a large part of me aching to run. One look at me and he'd know. And I'm not certain how long I'd be able to hold back before breaking down and crying in front of yet another teacher.
I make my way inside and walk to my desk when Hoseok looks up from the scattered, yet colorfully organized papers. He looks up and grins at me. I'm happy to see him, and I'm happy that at least someone is smiling at me, but the sight of him causes a crack in my shielded smile.
He doesn't notice, and I don't let him as I sit down and pretend to rummage through my backpack for a pencil.
"Are we still on for lunch on Thursday?" He asks. "I've been craving beef bulgogi ever since you posted that picture of the Korean BBQ place you went with your Eomma." He points a finger at me dramatically. "Curse you for screwing up my meal plans. I hope you're happy."
"What? Oh. Right, I'm sorry."
Hoseok's smile drops. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," I chuckle through the ache.
His brow arches. "Yeah, I got that when you decided to ghost my texts. Again."
Honestly, I hadn't even thought about Hoseok. The last time we rode together was after the Halloween party when I was trying with everything I had to keep from crying out loud. It was such a stressful night that I'm not sure if I said goodbye to him. "Shit, Hoseok. I'm so sorry."
He purses his lips and I see his head bob. It isn't a full nod, but he's not heartless. "I figured you needed time after that hangover, but I didn't expect you to just ditch me like that." He swings his legs over where he's facing me. "Now tell me what's wrong."
My teeth clench to keep the truth from spilling off my tongue, but he sees right through me. I'm not even sure why I bothered in the first place.
"I looked everywhere for you at the party," he says. "You weren't outside, and I made sure to go around the back because maybe you were stuck somewhere, but it was like you disappeared. And to top it off, you freaked the fuck out of me when you looked scared. You had me rushing out of there like you witnessed a murder and then smiled and pretended like I was the one going crazy."
"You're not crazy," I say. "And I was— I was outside next to the stairway. I wanted to get away from the claustrophobic mess of a party." Panic starts to wind its way around my spine, pricking my nerves like needles. "I didn't want to stay for long, so I asked if we could go. That's all."
"Is that all of it?" Hoseok hits back.
I shake my head. "Seriously. I'm fine. I just. . . needed a moment to myself back there."
His eyes grow softer and he reaches out a hand, sympathy filling his gaze. "You know you can be real with me. If something's going on, you don't have to hide it. Chances are, others are going through the same thing. I mean, take me for example: I have a drinking problem and can't go anywhere without something to give me a boost."
He tilts his head to his tumblr and he swallows when he looks at me. "There's people who can help get you back on your feet, and there's plenty of friends who are willing to listen. You have options, Jimin."
It doesn't register in my mind that he's talking about drugs until he starts naming off rehabilitation centers, and it's only then that I want to scream at him. Is this what he thinks of me? That I'm a drug addict who sneaks off to hit a joint? Although, compared to the truth, maybe this altered persona might make more sense. It does to Hoseok.
Class starts and I have the opportunity to ignore everything Hoseok said, paying attention to the board and working out the problems in my head while jotting down notes Professor Kim suggests.
I'm packing up my things when Professor Kim walks up to me, his glasses square and old, hair dyed a tacky silver and combed over; he sees that I'm alone and leans against an empty desk. Aside from a few strays, it's just us, and it makes me dreadfully uncomfortable.
"Jimin, hey." He smiles so genuine I'm confused. "Remember to sign up for the next Trivia Night before Friday, okay? I look forward to the next match."
He takes a step closer and I zip up my backpack. I feel lightheaded from watching him act like everything is normal. Maybe to him it is, but not me. I've never had a normal day ever since the first day of the semester.
"How's school going?" he asks.
I've never seen him approach any student after class unless it wasn't to remind them that they are failing miserably. I haven't seen him be casual with anyone else other than Yoongi and Professor Kim Seokjin, and I'm not sure why he chooses to adopt this smiling version to me. A wall goes up, an urge to be defensive and have my guard up because I'll regret it if I don't.
I set down my backpack on the floor. "It's fine. Professor Min has been helping me out a lot with it."
He gives me another smile, irritatingly benign. "He helps often?"
"Yep." I look up through my eyelashes. "He's never mentioned me?"
The wrinkles in his forehead deepen. The look lasts for only a second, and if I wasn't on high alert, I wouldn't have noticed. "He has. I only made the observation that he seems to have you as his own teacher's pet."
Slowly, I nod.
"I can't say I've had a teacher's pet of my own," he says, "but over the course of a career such as ours, every once in a while a student will come across and forge a connection with us."
The way he keeps repeating the word 'us' puts a bad taste in my mouth, like he's excluding me from everything even if he's having a conversation with me.
"Teachers are human, after all, same as you are," he says. "To a teacher, favoritism can exist in the classroom. Some students are just special."
I feel like I might throw up. I resist the urge not to, instead focusing on the frame of his glasses and pasting a smile on my face. The only card I can play is innocence, and for that to work, I have to sell it.
"I understand," I say. "I'm not trying to take advantage of Professor Min's time. I just appreciated his help and thought it was okay for me to ask for it in the first place."
His statue falters before he straightens. "No, no. I don't want to make you feel bad asking for help. That's our job; to aid and assist in any way we can." He leans on the desk, folds his hands across his lap. "There's nothing wrong with reaching out. Any faculty is here for you."
I smile and stand, picking up my backpack. Case closed. Shaking with relief and feeling like I might pass out, I head toward the door, but Professor Kim stops me before I leave. "Jimin, I say this to you because I want to know the exact relationship you have with Professor Min."
Strangely enough, I'm calm. It's that feeling you get when doing something adult for the first time in your life. That feeling where you become so serious you scare yourself, because it's not you. I smile, this time it's real, and it terrifies him and me.
"We're close. Didn't you know that?"