ミ★
twenty-four
❝misleading fires❞
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Although Jungkook is anxiously waiting beside me for Taehyung to approach us, I cannot fight the glimmer of excitement I feel at the sight of my boyfriend's harsh eyes and tense stature.
He isn't happy, but that is a severe understatement. His fluffy hair blows carelessly in the cold wind with each stride he makes to cross the street, his suit jacket's tail moving against his lean frame as his shoes hit the pavement. His attire today is not any different than his usual working wear, but right now the adrenaline from the meeting has sparked new feelings at the sight of those long black slacks and fitted dress shirt.
I don't break eye contact with him for the majority of his walk. I'm biting a knowing smirk, but I don't know where it is fueling from. I'm standing here, on the corner, half dressed, but nothing in my head is telling me to cower down in embarrassment nor timidness. My arms don't reach around my chest, and I don't cross my legs.
"Professor," Jungkook's voice is mildly out of character for him; he deepens his voice in fear, but nevertheless trying to seem confident. My friend is evidently attempting to pretend he doesn't know about our relationship when he asks, cluelessly, "what can we do for you?"
Taehyung is staring at me and has yet to acknowledge Jungkook. Although I am also not looking at Jungkook, I feel his anxiousness. It grows silent as we wait for Taehyung to respond; I think he is waiting for me to speak up first. I don't. I don't want to clue Jungkook in and tell him my boyfriend already knows that he is aware of our relationship.
I'm too curious where the conversation will lead without me. I want to see what Taehyung will do.
The secrecy of our relationship is being tested. It gives me a strange sense of power; the fact that I have indirectly put Taehyung in this position. As his hard eyes stare into mine, I can't help but see the softness behind them. He is unsure of what to do, but as seconds pass by, and our mental communication continues, he blinks away from me, and looks at Jungkook.
His stare is nothing I've seen before. If we weren't in public right now, it seems as though Taehyung would reach forward and do something harmful to Jungkook. Thankfully, they keep distance; however, this distance doesn't protect Jungkook from the poignant dig of the intent behind his eyes.
"What you can do for me," Taehyung speaks lowly, "is tell me why you are on a fūcking street corner with my half-naked girlfriend at 5am."
He said it. My insides turn.
Taehyung's eyes don't meet mine again as his attention has turned solely to Jungkook. My smirk turns into a smile. For some reason, just now at this very second, after hearing the words fall from his lips, I feel validated. Our relationship from late August to now late October suddenly feels etched into me. . . part of me. It has surfaced. It's real. It's being acknowledged outside the premise of my own mind and personal time.
I take a glance at my tattooed friend. He is also without his jacket, and I'm sure that his clattering teeth is from the temperature and not his nervousness. His inked skin is not a shield against the crisp air, although it seems like it should be.
Jungkook's behavior has turned into defensiveness at Taehyung's accusatory tone; he drops the clueless act the moment he begins defending himself.
The mood of the conversation has shifted because the two men are on the same page.
"Hey, hey, hey," Jungkook says quickly. "Don't get any weird ideas. . ."
Jungkook glances around as if surveying the area. It's quiet and deserted on this quiet Thursday morning; no one can hear our conversation. Taehyung's eyebrows merely furrow at Jungkook's attempt of a defense; he isn't satisfied in the slightest by it.
I can tell they both don't know how to handle the situation. I know I should speak up—I know I should— but I watch, voluntarily passively for once, because my adrenaline from the meeting is now creating a spinning sensation. My new feelings towards Taehyung have now turned into a downward spiral of oncoming headache. I find myself wincing at a new threshold of pain.
"Look at her," Taehyung snarls. "What ideas am I supposed to be getting?"
He gestures towards me, but Jungkook must understand the motive behind Taehyung's words because he doesn't turn. Look at me? What is wrong with me? When I glance down, I also notice that my shoe is broken. The strap that once securely wrapped around my ankle has ripped apart. I'm starting to realize that everything about me is unusual. . . not just my outward appearance. . .
"Okay, okay," Jungkook exhales.
Taehyung's pressing demeanor has tarnished the shield Jungkook's buzzed mind was attempting to create. Our Professor doesn't need to say much; it's the way he is speaking that is intimidating Jungkook. But why is he intimidated? Jungkook is usually not one to back down from a pissing match.
"She smoked without me. . . okay? I didn't make her. The blunt might have been laced."
"What?" I gape at the information. "What are you talking about?"
My shock is mixed with anger. Why would he tell Taehyung that? I hit his shoulder to stop him from continuing. Laced?
Jungkook ignores me, waiting for Taehyung's response eagerly. I'm relieved that Jungkook doesn't say anything more. Taehyung doesn't allow himself to react heavily; although I know that he wants to widen his eyes just as I did, his limited expression is telling of how hard he is masking it, and what he is actually thinking.
I know by now how to read him. . .
"Nothing happened to me," I clear the air when Taehyung remains silent. "I feel fine. I am fine. I just lost track of time."
I am somewhat referring to the promise I made to him that I would text him when I was back in my dorm.
Taehyung huffs a quick breath at my rambling words. "Fine, Eunha? Fine? You are not fine. You were drugged."
"I. . . I was not."
I had intended to challenge him with an affirmative tone, but my voice grows weak. My seemingly innocent remark only confirms what he is saying. The moment I realize this, I back down. I fall back into my body: slumping my shoulders and crossing my arms over my chest. I begin to nervously bite my lip as I come down from this high; I'm falling too fast.
Taehyung continues, now looking at Jungkook. "You took advantage of her ignorance."
Jungkook is taken back by Taehyung's return to accusation. His sheepish explanations of what happened are void now when his expression changes.
"Ignorance?" Jungkook wants to laugh. "Have you met her? There may have been a little PCP in that weed, but drugs don't make you do what she does."
"What?" Taehyung's eyes shoot to mine. He then looks back at Jungkook, "what are you implying?"
My eyes are on the ground. I don't want to speak. With my head hanging low, I close my eyes and wait anxiously for Jungkook to expose me. Jungkook saw Yoongi and Joon together in the bed; he saw me with my phone. . . he must know what I did. All I can do now is hold my breath and hope he doesn't say it to Taehyung.
"Nothing. . ." Jungkook trails in defeat, keeping my secrets. I open my eyes and blow out a breath of relief. "As she said, nothing happened to her."
The two men are still up in tension although Jungkook has tried to explain my wellness. I am struggling to find the confidence to look up at Taehyung and confirm that this wellness exists. It's as if I'm forcing myself to appear this way for him. . . masking the guilt I should feel for what I did.
There is none.
"I have class at 9," Jungkook starts stepping away. "I smell like shīt. I'm leaving."
He doesn't wait another moment before leaving. I don't move after Jungkook departs. My eyes are staring at Taehyung's shoes because I don't want to meet his gaze. It isn't because I'm scared, it is because I want to hide the shimmer of smugness I have. I am not ignorant. Hearing Jungkook confirm this relieves me.
He is the first to speak. "Eunha."
I'm waiting for the trembling to start. There is this sense of awareness in me that acknowledges the guilt that should be growing deep down in my core. I don't feel it. The trembling lips and nervous gnawing at my inner cheek does not transpire inside me; instead, I look up at him. I'm expecting his angry, intense expression, but I'm met by his worried one.
Taehyung's hair falls softly to the sides of his face and frames his sharp features. His rounded eyes, although worried, appear much less intimidating. I can tell that he has just woken up. The tiredness was not lost in him even after a morning shower. The dampness in his hair has caused small ringlets to form at the ends of the hair that he now has to push back away from his face.
"We shouldn't be out here together," I refer to the setting. It was different when the three of us were here, but now it is just he and I.
Students are no where in sight so early in the morning, but I can't with good conscience allow any suspicion to rise from this. I take a step back, but he takes one forward. He ignores my words of heed,
"You said you could trust him."
"I can," I reply. "He was walking me to my dorm, after all."
The air grows tense. It's obvious that Taehyung can not do that. The topic is unspoken, but not ignored.
"Did he make you do these things?"
"What? No."
Taehyung is watching me carefully. His eyes are intent on me as if taking in every single aspect of my features. I'm unsure if it's the makeup, my outfit, or just me that has him caught a little off guard. He is staring at me just like Yoongi did: with slight intrigue. My confident appearance is confusing him.
"I. . . I was going to text you when I got to my dorm."
"It's 5AM, Eunha. Did you know that?"
Truthfully, no. I didn't know that until it was too late. The increments of time that disappeared are starting to tell me that Jungkook is most likely right. I keep this to myself because I don't want Taehyung to know. This night cannot exist in the reality I'm creating— it was an alternative one that was necessary to cut ties with the old me. He doesn't need to know.
He murmurs with frustration, "it's like you want a reaction out of me. . ."
"Taehyung," I say softly. "I was just having a good time."
I purse my lips and peer up at his height with a look of innocence. He sighs before taking a quick look at his watch. The band matches his belt, and pulls together his outfit nicely. A moment like this is when I realize our age gap is creating an issue. Our contrasting outfits are physical evidence of this; our agendas are totally different.
"I have a meeting. . ." he trails in a grumble.
I nod. "It's not like we could do anything anyway."
His face hardens at the mention. My tone did not intend to be passive aggressive, but the words left my mouth before I could stop them. Even if I wanted to take his jacket, accept his embrace, touch him, etc., I couldn't. I know he wants to cover me up and save my exposed skin from the cold air, but he can't. That's the point. This barrier as we stand in public is creating a rift right now.
I stop the silence. "I'm. . . going to walk back to my dorm."
"Eunha," he says deeply, stopping my turning body from completely moving. He reveals his inner thoughts in a vulnerable statement: "I was worried."
"I still am," he adds. "This is unlike you, no?"
Unlike me. It isn't. I don't answer.
"We will talk later," is all I say.
I'm growing a little anxious because we have been out here alone for so long. I'm making small movements to distance us, but yet I still feel too close to him while exposed like this. My headache is growing to the point that all I wish for right now is to fall into my bed and disappear into a state of slumber. With every small step I take backwards, I'm relieved that he doesn't follow me.
With heavy shoulders I eventually face away from him and begin walking on to campus. There is a sense of relief inside of me, though. Taehyung so easily falls victim to my soft voice and pleading eyes. When I reassure him of a concern he has, it's as if I can easily convince him otherwise with just a look and tone of voice. . .
It makes it easier to speak my mind and tell him what I'm thinking. That's what he wants, right?
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Hana isn't in the dorm when I return. The thrill from the night has begun to wear off, and tiredness is beginning to settle within me. I strip from my clothing and wash my face with makeup wipes, too lazy to go take a shower. I will do that later. I am victim to the fall of my high: my eyes heavy and my body limp.
It's approaching 6AM when I decide to climb into bed. The thoughts that want to escape out of the depth of my subconscious are making a trying effort, because the paranoia begins as I lay in my bed, forced to exist in the abyss of thoughts that invade me. I'm not thinking of Taehyung, I'm thinking of those pictures.
The image of Jungkook and Jimin are relaying again and again in my head. Even when I shut my eyes, the darkness only makes it worse. I can see the images so clearly. My fingertips tingle as I remember touching the photographs, flipping through them, making them exist in my reality. Was it easier before I knew about them? Did Jungkook know what I meant when I said I found them? I'm unsure.
It's eating me up inside. Photographs leave too much to chance: anyone can see them. As the old saying goes, a picture is worth more than a thousand words. My heart begins to beat rapidly at the idea. My chest is sinking with each anxious thought I have; I sit up from my bed in an instance and reach for my Anatomy textbook on my desk. The photos I took with Taehyung that night in the exhibit are in there. I squished them in between the pages of my textbook.
Shīt. Today is Thursday. As I open my textbook to retrieve the photographs, I realize that my Anatomy midterm is today. I have no time to think about that now.
The photographs are thin and light in my grasp. I flip through them, engraving this image of me before I start my destruction. I don't know how many exactly there are, but it doesn't matter. They can't exist. This photo evidence can only exist in my mental reality, not my physical one. I'm protecting my relationship. I step out of bed and throw them in my trash can. Jungkook was nice enough to empty it for me when he cleaned the room.
I stand over the bin. This isn't enough. The paranoia is eating me; I reach for the very same purple lighter from last night and pick up one of the photographs, setting it aflame.
I drop the burning photograph in with the others, adding a piece of looseleaf to ensure the flame grows. My room is dark, the sunrise only merely peeking through one or two blinds. The flame, however, lights up the very darkest depths of my room. It glistens in my eyes as it grows quickly, consuming the photographs in its unpredictable wrath.
I allow it to exist for long enough before I stomp out its intent to spread. I control it.
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Hours pass after I fall asleep, and I was finally able to catch up with myself in a state of rest. I'm awoken by the sound of slamming drawers and closet doors. I moan under my breath before opening my eyes. Hana is packing a bag, and shoving clothes into it quickly. I'm relieved that her appearance doesn't seem erratic or strange; it is just that she is in a rush. I sit up with a yawn and check my phone. It's almost 3PM. I have missed texts from Jimin asking me why I wasn't in our English class.
Hana glances at me from the corner of her eye. She sighs, "our midterm is in 10 minutes."
I should feel more panicked than I do. I'm defeated. I don't care anymore. This is my way of dealing with my past: I refuse to become what my father manipulated me to become.
I don't reply. She slings her bag onto her shoulder before grabbing her keys and phone.
"I'm going home until Sunday."
"Oh," I say. "Are you alright?"
She rolls her eyes thinking I'm pretending to care. I wish she didn't think I was trying to be with her boyfriend; it would make reaching an amends much easier. The stare she is giving me tells me that she still thinks it.
"No," she tells me. "I have a terrible headache all the time."
I frown as she walks to the door.
I speak up before she can leave, "it's not true, you know. Nothing is going on between me and Jungkook. I wouldn't do that."
She merely looks at me. She is worrying about me when it is really Jimin she should be worrying about. . . but there are levels to denial. She doesn't comment on my words before she leaves. The door slams shut and I'm left alone, with minutes to go before my midterm.
I don't want to go, so I don't.
I fall back into my pillow and sigh a heavy breath to myself, unlocking my phone to set an alarm for 4:45PM. I have L'ange de Noël practice at 6PM.
These practices are the only thing I look forward to. I have control when I can dance. It's what I want, it's who I am, it's what I've become. Thinking about the liberty I have when I dance is the peace of mind I need to sleep soundly. I drift off again with a content feeling.
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❝conniving dialogue❞
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I'm showered, replenished, refreshed, and perky when I arrive to the Art Building for practice. I have a level head on my shoulders as I round the corner approaching the practice room. Taehyung's office is closed when I pass it, which tells me he is most likely already there. I know he is probably reeling in concern for me given how we left each other this morning, but I like keeping him on his toes.
It excites him, doesn't it? It excites me.
There isn't much time to think about that. When I walk into the practice room, my attention is focused on working hard; striving for perfection. I have no doubt that Jimin and I have the ability to create something great out of our leading roles. I'm eager to show the audience just how badly I want to protect and save Christmas.
The room is filled with dancers when I enter. It almost seems like there is an infinite amount of people because of the mirrors. It's loud, and people are confined in their own groups filled with laughter and loud talking. There is still about ten minutes before we start.
It doesn't take long for me to spot him. Taehyung is at the music mixer with Yoongi as I walk across the floor. The two of them seem to be in a conversation about the music, which allows me to go undetected when I approach the storage room. It is the same one where Taehyung gave me my fitted pointe shoe. Now, however, a woman works in here because the season started. She is in charge of stocking our wardrobe, makeup, shoes, etc..
I stop at the door. "Boo Eunha," I say.
She gives a smile before turning to the many shelves of shoes. My name is on a label under one of the cubbies in which she grabs a pair. Looking in here reminds me of how timid I used to be with Taehyung. He liked that about me.
"Here you go, sweetie," she hands me the new pair.
I bow my head politely at her before departing. I then walk towards a familiar face.
"You're crazy, you know that?" Jimin greets me with wide eyes and a laugh.
The last time I saw him was next to the fire pit at the meeting. He looks tired, but his energy at the moment doesn't reflect it. His eyes are lively, although heavy, as he beams a bright smile at me. He is dressed in tight fitted workout clothes. I blink away the intimate images of him and Jungkook.
"What do you mean?"
"You just are," he chuckles. "You're living that 'I don't give a fūck' life nowadays, huh? You haven't been to English class in a while, and last night you were literally wild. I love it."
"Really?" I shy slightly. I'm enjoying his positive attitude.
I sit down and begin to break my shoes in. I do the same thing every time; I pound the object against the floor, shaping the malleable material with my force and hands. We continue conversation easily.
"You were so cool yesterday," he compliments me again over my shoe banging against the floor.
"Thanks," I gush. "I wanted to have a good time."
He crouches to the ground. I almost don't notice that he has until I look up from my shoe. I have successfully broken the shanks and made them more flexible for my feet. I grab for the tape and toe pads as I wait for Jimin to say something. He seems hesitant.
"Listen. . ."
I purse my lips. His tone is serious.
"I overheard your fight with Jungkook," he confesses.
I don't say anything. A lot of information was revealed to unsuspecting listeners during that yelling battle. I'm waiting to see which one Jimin chooses to talk about. Will he mention Joon or my 'mystery' boyfriend? I don't know which one I would prefer. I glance over at Taehyung quickly. He is still discussing music with Yoongi. I swallow hard as I watch his side profile; his attractiveness is at an all time high. I think it's due to Joon's and Yoongi's hands being all over me. It just wasn't the same. . .
Jimin's voice pulls me from my stare.
He blows out a breath as if he is nervous to say anything. "Don't tell Namjoon about him."
"Wait. . . what? About who?"
Taehyung or Jungkook?
"Yeah," Jimin repeats, "whoever your boyfriend is. I know you were only pretending to be interested in Joon last night."
I furrow my eyebrows at his advice. He is advising me to keep it a secret although he knows about it. It's obvious he doesn't know who this said boyfriend is, which I'm relieved, but his words have made it even more confusing for me.
"Why keep it a secret?"
I can tell he doesn't want to respond. I'm tying the ribbon around my ankles with as much patience as I can, waiting for him to spill what he knows. Unfortunately for me, he chooses to be evasive with words of heed.
". . . it will help Jungkook. . . and you."
"Wouldn't saying something help Jungkook? Joon would know it's not him."
Jimin bites his lip with apprehension. I know that I can't tell anyone about Taehyung. . . but Jimin doesn't know that.
I'm skeptical. "What are you not telling me?"
There is no time for him to ponder on what I've asked, because Hoseok's voice booms loudly and abruptly from the staff table. Jimin stands up and I'm left to wonder to myself about what this all means; It has only confirmed what I believed to be true: Namjoon can't stand the thought of there being someone else.
Given how serious Jimin and Jungkook are about it, I suspect that there is another layer to this.
Hoseok informs us, "Bitna was released from the hospital and is now resting at home. She is expected to make a recovery."
"Thank God," Jimin mumbles.
I'm relieved too.
"Anyways," Hoseok then claps loudly. "I want all my elves and Eunha on my left, and all of my fairies on my right with Jimin. My town people, trees, and animals will be going into practice room B."
His instructions cause the groups of dancers to disperse to where he directed. Jimin grabs my hands to help me stand. He gives a sorrowful look to me in reference to our conversation before walking to his station. The room empties significantly as background dancers leave to enter the other dance room.
I blow out an exhale and join my group.
My anxiety sky-rockets when I notice that Yoongi is waiting off to the side for me. I have no time to avoid his gaze, because he catches my eyes, motioning for me to come towards him.
"Eunha," he smirks. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
I'm looking everywhere except for at him. I have no memory of what happened at the meeting. I pushed it away. It's the only way I can move forward.
He brings it up, nevertheless.
"I want to talk about last night—"
"We don't have to," I smile politely. It's a soft smile.
I've made a mistake in thinking my sweetness would be enough to deter his intentions: it makes it worse. I have come to realize that Yoongi is a sucker for sweetness and innocence. Even just by my glance, he is leaning into the table as if holding himself up. Oh no.
I think he is assuming something more will come out of what he thinks happened. . .
"Yoongi—"
He cuts me off this time, "I had a great time with you."
"Okay," I swallow awkwardly.
Taehyung is standing only a few feet away. Although he is going through some paperwork on the table, I know he is listening. The furrowed eyebrows as he pretends to be occupied is too obvious to me now.
"We should do it again. I know Joon is a little pushy, but I can talk to him."
A little pushy? I want to laugh. I'm basically a toy for them to play with. A doll that they want to own. I suppose that maybe Joon isn't chasing after me. . . but who he wants me to be.
"I rather not talk about this here," I smile politely again.
He is adamant. "Maybe next time without molly? That way I can remember more of it."
I cough as he is talking to stop it from being overheard. I pretend to have a tickle in my chest when I place my hand there and begin clearing my throat. Is he doing this on purpose? I shoot daggers at him to signal for him to stop, but he doesn't get the hint. He reaches forward like he is about to swipe my hair out of my face for me. I awkwardly take a step away from him, dodging his action.
He drops his hand uncomfortably. I widen my eyes to myself.
"Did you want to talk to me about the music?" I create a topic to stop his advances.
I'm crying and groaning on the inside. I know Taehyung can't say or do anything right now, but there is a part of me that wonders what thinks about what he is hearing. Does he trust me? Taehyung's facial expression doesn't reveal anything other than that he is listening, but I need to know.
Yoongi cuts in to my inner thoughts, "yeah. . . I made some tempo changes. I have copies of my notes. I'll text them to you after practice."
"That would be great," I nod finally to him.
I attempt to depart to my group. Yoongi continues, "we can go over it together after practice. I know Hana is gone now for the weekend. . ."
Shut up!
"If I have any questions about it, I will let you know."
We both start awkwardly nodding at each other before I leave. I'm cringing to myself and refuse to take a glance back at Taehyung. Keeping my mind on other things, like practicing this number with the elves, will have to do until I get to be with him alone.
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My chance never comes. When practice ends, I notice that Taehyung has left already. I run to check my phone the moment I get back to my bag, but there is no text from him. The only texts I have are from Namjoon.
I grumble as I unlock my phone to read it.
Namjoon :: (6:12PM)
hey cutie ❤️
Namjoon :: (6:12PM)
You missed the midterm u ok?
Namjoon :: (8:45PM)
Coming out tonight? we are pregaming at the house
I don't bother answering. I click and open a conversation with Taehyung, only to stop myself before my thumbs start pressing against the keyboard. Maybe he is in his office waiting for me.
I pack my things quickly and quietly. I wait a bit, pretending to take longer than normal to leave. I even was able to ward off Yoongi because Jimin had so many ideas for music renditions; they walked out of the practice room together a few minutes ago. I'm the last one to leave as I finally step out into the hallway. It smells of cleaning supplies, and there is a distant sound of vacuuming coming from down the hallway due to how late at night it is.
I approach Professor's door and knock lightly. Patiently, I wait. I knock again. I frown to myself when there is no answer. There is no way he is this mad at me. Even if he was, would he be the type to go silent? I don't think so.
My short walk home from the Art Building is very quiet. The streetlights are able to illuminate just enough of the pathways for me to see, but that still doesn't do much for the hills that I have to climb over. The same one or two lights flicker on and off, as if about to lose power at any moment. I snuggle into my jacket and groan under my breath. I'm exhausted. My legs ache.
I'm almost to my resident hall when I decide to be mature and make the phone call. This may be my first relationship, but I know enough that communication is key. I've read enough magazines about it to know that. . .
I bring my phone to my ear. One or two students pass me, which is a lot for this time of night. Everyone is either bunkered down in their dorm or already out by this now. I stop at the sitting area outside my hall as the dial tone erupts. It's then that I also hear the buzzing of a phone nearby. I turn around towards the noise.
I would know him anywhere. The man sitting on the bench is wearing the very same hoodie that Taehyung had worn on our movie date. I watch as he takes out his phone. He glances at me, and I expect him to decline the call, but he doesn't.
"Hi," I say into the receiver when I hear and see that he has picked up.
I don't walk towards him. Instead, I take a seat at the bench across the pathway from him. His hood drapes over his head, but his broad shoulders are a give away for me. I shake my head to myself at the sight of dark sweatpants fitted on his lean legs. I don't think I've seen him wearing those before. He looks like an average student, someone who you could pass by easily. He isn't average though. Not to me.
"This. . . This is unexpected," I say because he is quiet. He is too far to hear my soft tone of voice without the phone when I speak.
We are looking at one another. I want to sit next to him, but I'm too afraid that someone I know will show up here. . .
His voice drips smoothly into the line like it always does; deep, alluring, low: "I'm here to walk you into your dorm."
I roll my lips against one another. Although the streetlights make it hard to see, it is enough that I can see his small smirk. It pulls to the side of his face beautifully; I begin smiling foolishly. For some reason, I'm finding this incredibly romantic. He didn't even do much— he just showed up.
"Into?" I comment on his choice of words teasingly. It's masking how nervous I am that he might be thinking about what he overheard with Yoongi.
"That's what boyfriends do, no?"
"I don't know," I breathe. "I've only been with one guy."
I am playing along with him, but I am also commenting on other suspicions he may have. My confidence level these days is very impressive, but when it comes to Taehyung I am still progressing. It's difficult to be confident in things I am doing for the first time. A way around this, I have evidently found, is to speak indirectly.
"Do you want to talk about last night, Eunha?"
My chest is already feeling heavy. For some reason I am less apprehensive about this conversation now that it is over the phone, yet still somewhat in person. Did he know this would make me more comfortable to talk? Was this his plan?
"You. . . um. . . don't want to talk about this inside?"
I motion to my dorm building.
"Do you?" he questions me.
My chest is aching now. I have nothing to be guilty of, I remind myself. Nothing. They kissed my cheeks and my neck, but it's not like I wanted it. I am revolted at the thought. I push it away again.
Taehyung continues because I'm flustering myself. "Do you remember the whole night, Eunha?"
"Yes, of course I do," I say quickly. "I wasn't drugged, Taehyung. I promise you that."
"You wouldn't know," he remarks.
He thinks I am so easily fooled and tricked. I tense my jaw, but control my tone of voice. I don't want to get angry and cause a big fight. I understand that he is worried about me. . .
"I was aware of everything," I say specifically.
The warm light casts a telling shadow above his head. I can tell he is becoming agitated with my answers. It's like he wants to think that I didn't have control over whatever he overheard with Yoongi. That must be it. He is trying to understand why I would voluntarily put myself with Yoongi and Joon again after what happened. He wants me to talk about that. That's what he wants from me.
I need to alleviate his worries. I soften my voice. "The two of them took ecstasy, and then wanted to do things with me."
"Did you also take it?"
"No," I say firmly. "I didn't take it. They didn't do anything with me."
His eyebrows furrow deeply. I'm itching to stand and go over to him, but I stop myself with a frown. My heart is beating out of my chest. I know we need to talk about this, but it's getting difficult. This memory I have. . . I don't want to tell him what I edited out of my narrative.
"Taehyung," I plea weakly for him to speak. "Namjoon did something really bad."
"To you?" he grits.
"No," my voice breaks. "To Jungkook."
I've caught him off guard with a switch in direction. The confused look on his face is evidence enough that he doesn't understand why this has to do with me.
"It's complicated."
"I see that," he murmurs.
"Do you trust me?" I ask him.
The question leaves my lips and our reality feels quieter than usual. Quieter than silence. I have tuned out blowing leaves in the wind, chirping insects, and low buzzing of the atmosphere. I am staring at his beautifully crafted, shadow contoured face with pleading eyes and a pouting, nervous lip. Taehyung has not yet ever broken eye-contact with me, nor have I with him. I need him to trust that nothing happened, because I have put so much trust in him. I have trusted him with my body, personal life, future. . . He is my first everything. He is the first man in my life who hasn't wanted something out of me due to selfishness. Even as I'm staring at him right now, I realize that he is the first person ever to make me feel like I can be myself. He isn't pushing me to be someone, nor do things for his own personal gain.
I'm hoping that the look I'm giving him can communicate this.
"Yes," he affirms. "I trust you."
I release the breath I didn't realize I was holding in. He doesn't hear this over the line, thankfully. I was growing nervous that I would have to dig down into that part of me and explain what I refuse to remember.
"Okay," I say just above my breath.
Taehyung is being awfully quiet. He is looking at me, but not saying much of anything else. I can see his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths as if I'm deep thought.
I cut in awkwardly, "I know it's late. . ."
I trail off knowing we both have his class early in the morning. It is then that I notice that he has a bag with him. I hide my expression of relief. All I want is for him to hold me and get that feeling of Joon and Yoongi off of my skin.
"Do you allow boys in your dorm at this hour, Ms. Boo?"
I smile. My heated cheeks aren't because of the cold.
"Only men, Professor."
"You're in luck, then."
I swallow hard when he stands from the bench and ends the call. I scramble for my things and begin walking towards the entrance, knowing that he is following a bit behind me. With his casual attire and the hood over his head, he isn't recognizable. I swipe my card at the front door and open it wider than I usual would. He follows in behind me.
The student working at the desk is preoccupied on his laptop when Taehyung and I enter the elevator. Taehyung keeps his face hidden, his unruly hair covering most of his upper facial features. I click on my floor with anticipation. We don't exchange words, touch, or acknowledge each other at all as we walk down the hallway.
My eyes are alert waiting for another student to appear. Luckily, no one interrupts us. It isn't until we get to my room that I'm feeling less flustered. Taehyung doesn't show any physical signs of nervousness, although I know that this isn't an ideal situation he would like to be in.
Taehyung shuts the door softly behind us when we enter my room. I turn on the lights and make sure the blinds are closed before taking off my coat.
"Thank you," I mumble. "I know you didn't have to do all of this. It's risky."
"It's nice to be surprised every once in a while, hm?"
Taehyung places his bag down. His eyes scan the room, and I can't help but let out a small giggle at the sight of him; I've never imagined him being in here. I'm finally able to adore how innocent and cuddly he looks: his fluffy hair, bold brows, casual clothing. . .
I do what I'm thinking and pull him forward to wrap my arms around him. He is freezing from being outside. My palms lay flat on the soft material of his sweatshirt as my body presses against him. It is instantly that I feel his arms go around me as well. His frame swallows me, but doesn't make me feel small or insignificant; it offers a place for me to find comfort.
When I close my eyes and allow my vision to get dark, there is no falling into its depths. I'm distracted from that place in the back of my mind.
"Baby?"
I open my eyes when his voice fills the room. It's then that I realize that I holding on to him much tighter than I thought. I chuckle nervously and release his torso from my embrace.
"Sorry. . ."
He furrows his eyebrows at my behavior. Stop acting strange, Eunha. Nothing happened last night. They may have touched me, but they weren't touching me. Not the way he does. . . not the way I want to be touched. I feel so vulnerable with Taehyung now. The intimacy that I had been so afraid of for so long is now buried between us. I remade myself into the person I strived to be.
"Eunha, I'm not going to punish you for not texting me."
I chuckle lightly at him. He thinks I'm worried about that? I have just overcome an identity crisis.
"I'm not thinking about that."
"Tell me, please."
I know he is just trying to lighten the mood. I appreciate his effort, but I don't want to get into the specifics of why our relationship means so much to me. He will think I'm foolish. Sometimes I'm afraid that I might be just young and naive. I have nothing to compare him to. Joon surely cannot be the standard for other men, right?
I shrug at my patient boyfriend. "Just thinking about you. . . me. . . my life. . ."
"Good thoughts," I add quickly after I end the trailing mumbling mess of a sentence.
His lips tug upward. I'm tingling with anticipation when he leans in and kisses me. It's just a peck. His lips press against mine softly as if he doesn't want to overdo anything. It's my turn to furrow my eyebrows at his behavior.
"You're acting different," I tell him softly.
"Am I?"
"Yes," I murmur.
Although we have the whole room to stand in, we are close together as if we have no choice. I am not speaking anything over just a breath, but yet it still feels too loud. I like the atmosphere we have created. The air around us feels thick, yet fragile, and every movement I make feels calculated and right. There is no wrong with him. I'm starting to normalize that feeling.
I do this so that when our fingertips touch like they are now, I get that feeling. The burst of tingles that start at the pads of my fingers and travel to every end of my body. I only have that with him. I know I'm not speaking from experience, but I'm not entirely sure a pill could emulate this feeling either. I might be foolish. I might be easily swindled by our intimacy, but it's alright to be blissfully ignorant sometimes.
Taehyung's heavily alluring deep tone suddenly cuts into my ogling. He speaks slowly, as if rehearsed somewhat.
"Eunha, when I look at you, there is so much more than what meets the eye. More than I could have ever imagined."
His eyes are peering down at me. He is looking at my eyes, then my nose, down to my lips, and seemingly all over my face: taking my presence in. His soft breaths hit the top of my forehead as he speaks, softly of course, not to break the fragile air we have created. Taehyung can feel it too, I just know it.
He continues, wanting me to be silent. I listen. "Your beauty, Eunha. . . it is unlike anything I have ever encountered."
His words are so sweet. I intertwine our fingers and struggle to stop the burning smile from completely overcoming my face.
"Not only your physical beauty," he is speaking gently. "It's who you are. You are everything I have ever wanted in a partner. You appreciate art. . . your thoughts are deep, methodical, and carefully crafted. . . you aren't superficial, Eunha. You care what people say, and how they think. Although you weren't confident in expressing yourself in the past, you didn't rush to become someone else. You just wanted to be you."
My eyes are wide and my mouth is slightly agape. He is saying all of these thoughtful things as we are just standing here. I haven't even taken off my shoes yet.
"Why are you saying these sweet things?"
"Baby. . . everything you told me about your past, I know that wasn't easy for you to do."
Why is he talking about this again? The intimidating demeanor that I have grown accustomed to isn't present. Professor is looking down at me in admiration. This has been on his mind for a while, it seems.
"It wasn't," I agree with him, reminding him gently, "you are the only person who knows that about me."
"I feel guilty, Eunha."
Guilty?
"W-Why?"
My lips are trembling for the first time in quite a while. It is not due to nervousness. . . I'm holding back tears. I don't want to cry at the thought of my father and everything that I told Taehyung. I want to demand that he stops talking about it, but it seems that he is adamant to do so with me. He could barely wait until we were settled.
Taehyung doesn't allow me to guess what he is thinking with his expression. He is just staring at me, a bit hesitant, to continue. I wait eagerly for him.
"Last night," he begins to recount, "when you didn't text me all night. . . I began thinking worst case scenarios in my head."
"Taehyung," I frown.
"I know you are headstrong in your own ways," he forces a small smile. "but, you are vulnerable as well, Eunha. Predators will do the unthinkable to someone like you, and I couldn't be there."
"It's okay," I assure him repeatedly. "I can take care of myself."
"No," he refuses. "I never thought I couldn't trust you, Eunha. Especially since you have trusted me with so much. The matter of the fact is that you are an easy victim for them. They prey on your innocence, niceness, purity. . ."
"I know," I acknowledge. "But they didn't. I didn't allow them."
He doesn't believe me. Taehyung merely nods his head at me as if thanking me for the effort I'm making to understand him right now. I want to assure him that I can handle myself. The only way to do that is if I uncover these dark thoughts and actions that I am working to push away— the thoughts that plague me in my subconscious. That is the only way to assure that he understands that I'm willing to do whatever it takes to have control over my life.
Will that scare him away? If he knew the truth? Will that ease his guilty conscience? I can't do mention it. I just can't.
"Tae," I squeeze his hand. "Let me ease your guilty mind, please."
"You can't," he frowns. "I am worried that I have taken advantage of you."
When the words leave his lips, I almost think I have misheard him. I place my other hand on his cheek and allow my thumb to softly run over his smooth skin. He is freshly shaven as I slide my touch against him.
We are staring at each other as though our eye contact is the only thing keeping our reality alive.
"What? Why would you think that?"
"You don't know everything about me, Eunha."
"It's okay," I tell him. "We are still learning about each other."
Taehyung rolls his eyes at me. He forces our hands to drop, and shrugs away my touch on his face before distancing us. I'm taken back.
It is true. Although we met at the beginning of the semester, and several months have passed since then, there is always room for more knowledge. We are continuously learning about one another.
"I preyed on your innocence, niceness, and purity," he convinces himself. "I'm the adult. I shouldn't have let this go on without letting you know."
"W-What?"
I'm scared to breathe as if that will make me miss something he says. Is he trying to end us? Right now? I'm growing worried when he takes too long to talk.
I don't hesitate to speak my mind. There is no more hesitance left within me.
"I'm an adult too," I say. "I am old enough to make my own decisions. I'm eighteen years of age, and I know that you have an innocent, nice, and pure heart. I know you have years of experience over me, and that used to intimidate me greatly. . . but that doesn't matter now. You are the nicest, sweetest, everything -est man I have ever met. You didn't take advantage of me, Taehyung. I kissed you first, remember?"
I refuse to lie to him. Everything I am saying is the truth. Behind his mysterious, alluring and intimidating gaze is the man who I chose to trust. The man who embodies what is right. Why is he thinking otherwise?
"You don't know everything," he says again. It's evasive and vague.
My lips are quivering because I want to cry at the thought of him ending our relationship for an evasive and vague reason. This isn't how it is going to happen. I need it to stop. I will do or say whatever it takes to get there.
"I don't care that you can't come to stupid frat parties, Taehyung," I sniffle. "I didn't even want to go. I will never go again. Stop this."
"This isn't about that."
I have no idea what the point of this conversation is. He said that he feels guilty, that he thinks he took advantage of me. How? I made the first move. Everything leads back to me falling for him.
"Then what?" I insist.
He is quiet. I don't like it. I continue,
"The Angel tempted the Demon, Taehyung. She lured him in. She. . . She was dark, and it was all an act. She made the Demon feel guilty, like he was preying on her, but he wasn't. She knew it all along. She is also an accomplice to the temptation. . . so stop this. Stop blaming yourself."
I confess to the plot that I had once advocated against. I'm surprised the words are spilling out of me without a stuttering mess. I am so nervous, but I need him to know the truth. I know now that not just one entity can cause temptation. There is a push to the pull. We both wanted this. It was all a game for the two characters. A fatal game.
I have come to learn that the play isn't our reality. We can choose our reality. Taehyung needs to let me into his. He is the one who got me to this conclusion.
"Tell me about your past, then," I implore because he is silent. "I will understand."
I take a tentative step towards my bed and sit. I want him to sit down and relax. Although I have yet to see a striking expression from him about anything, I can sense that he is nervously waiting to tell me something. I can see it in the nervous movements of his fingertips. This isn't a side of him I have ever seen. He is more than vulnerable; he is exposed. I pat my hand on the bed for him to sit.
I am relieved when he does.
"Tell me," I whisper, creating the fragile air again. "I want to understand you. Let me in, please."
I'm not expecting the words that leave his lips. "I'm afraid to tell you."
Then it happens; the flicker of nervousness that I see in his eyes. Whatever is on his mind has been trapped there for a long time. Did he push it back into the depths of his subconscious, too? Has he been living with a lull over him?
"I trust you."
He breathes heavily, and we sit in the quietness of my room for a moment. He collects his thoughts before looking at me, confidently, ready to let me in. I don't touch him. We co-exist in our fragile air for the time being.
"Eunha. . ." he begins. "I am constantly. . . blocking out a part of my life. It haunts me."
I merely stare at him. Is this real? He is saying incredibly relatable things right now. . . There is no way I have created him into my narrative. . . he is saying everything that I have been struggling with since I entered Loomis and escaped my father.
I hug my knees to my chest and rest my chin there. I allow him to say everything at his own pace. I am facing him, but he is sitting on the edge of the bed, his side profile to me.
"I had a job before this," he says sheepishly. "It was a dance program sort of thing. I was an instructor. . . I had students, classes, just like I do now."
He glances at me. His deep voice is barely loud enough for me to hear, but I do. I am patient for him to continue. Eventually, he does. I consciously refrain from touching him to give a comforting gesture. I know he doesn't want it right now.
"I was much younger," he explains. "Just out of college. 21. I didn't feel old, but when I became a teacher and was expected to lead a bunch of students, it should've been a reality check for me."
I'm nodding to validate his words, but he hasn't glanced at me. This isn't typical for him. I feel empty without his stare; his beautiful, wide eyes.
"My first and only year there, I had this one student," his words become heavier. "Her name was Dalia. I. . . back then, I wasn't like I was now. I didn't know myself, yet, Eunha. This girl. . . she was conniving. Her soul was dark. She saw me, and she wanted to use me."
I'm finding it difficult to imagine Taehyung like this. I am so used to how confident, sly, and smooth he is. He has a remark for everything. Nine years ago is a very long time, I must admit. He has changed so much since then.
He pauses. His palms slide against his upper thigh a few times before he continues.
". . . she told me she was a senior in high school. 18. This program was a stepping stone into professional dance schools. She convinced me that she wanted me. I didn't realize this at the time, but that wasn't the case. She used me to get the lead for every show. I thought we were in love."
I frown. It's obvious this is going to turn into something worse than it is appearing right now, if that is even possible.
"Our relationship. . . it was sexual," he reveals to me. I bite down on my inner cheek. "She. . . She was my first. I didn't know that this didn't mean much to other people. Dalia played games; she said exactly what I wanted to hear all the time. No matter the topic, she knew what I wanted her to say. She could play me easily. I had no idea."
I sink into my thighs and hold them closer to my body as he continues to talk. The concern on my face is digging into my expression: my agape mouth, scrunched eyebrows, and sympathetic eyes. I'm waiting for him to reveal where it took such a drastic turn.
"This is when I made the biggest mistake," he exhales. I'm clenching my toes to take the first blow before my mind does. ". . . After 7 months, I learned that she was only 17 when we started dating."
His eyes meet mine, but only for a moment when he says this. I bite down on my inner cheek again. I am expecting myself to confidently advise him that it is alright, but this information is so much so suddenly. I wonder if he has ever said this out loud to anyone else. . .
"Eunha. . ." he grumbles. "I didn't end the relationship."
A tear escapes my eye. It travels alone down my flushed cheek. I swipe it away quickly and stop myself from trembling in small sniffles. He isn't crying, but the glossiness of his eyes tell me that he is sunk deep in regret.
I open my mouth to speak, but it's difficult. How can I judge him or blame him for this when he is distraught about it nine years after the fact? How will he grow and move on with his life if he expects me, or anyone else, to hold this over him? The vulnerability in his body language makes me feel the need to step up and comfort him, even though I may not know exactly how.
"Y-You gave yourself to her," I assure him through my sad tone of voice.
He ignores my attempt at justification.
"Dalia kept files: every text, email, phone call, date. She was building a case against me. She wanted me to suffer. Although she lied and got what she wanted out of me, it didn't matter when she decided she had her fun,
"After she got into the school she wanted, that was it. We never had the chance to officially break up. One moment, I think we are hopelessly in love. She talks about the future, a life with me. . . and then the next moment, I am being detained and questioned at a police station."
"Oh, Taehyung," I cry.
"She betrayed me."
I am speechless.
"But I was the adult, Eunha. I knew better."
"No," I shake my head. "You believed the reality she created for you."
I lean forward and grab his chin in my hand to force his face to look at me. He attempts to pull away, but I am stronger than he assumes. My fingers control his movements. I need to see his eyes. I need to be reminded of why this is all worth it. Behind the intimidation and harshness, is this man. The one who buys me flowers, compliments me, motivates me, and inspires me.
"She manipulated you," I say bravely with firmness. "She made you feel like your world only existed because of her. She controlled what you did, and made you feel guilty for ever thinking otherwise."
He is a victim. That girl controlled what he thought was his narrative. It was hers.
"Eunha," he shakes his head, refusing to hear me. "When I look at you, I see myself. I see who I was back then. You don't know any better. I have taken advantage of that."
The tears are streaming down my face now. Taehyung is a blurry mess ahead of me. My chest is heaving and my lips are surely trembling now. Taehyung attempts to look away again, but I force him to submit to me. I don't want him to cower away from what I say. He needs to hear me.
I suck in my whimpers. "You have never made me do anything I didn't want to. Ever."
"Eunha. . . "
"We are both the adults. I fell for you because you saw me. You saw that I needed help, but that doesn't mean you took advantage of me. I-I needed a reason to dance again. . . a reason to fight for myself. You are the reason I don't feel trapped anymore. I have never felt controlled or manipulated by you."
I am speaking without hesitation. It is then that Taehyung starts crying. It isn't a sob. There are just tears. They fill up into his eyes, and then he blinks. They stream down his checks and onto my hand.
My lips roll against one another to stop myself from sobbing.
I have a shaky breath as I continue. "You told me that the Angel was protecting Christmas; she thought she was doing what was right. The Angel protected Christmas because it brought her joy, and a peace of mind."
I am telling him the things that he said to me when I broke down about my father, but I have more to say. The analogies that we have been making since we met are proving to be our escape route during intense moments like these. I wish I could give him the world; even that would not amount to what he has given me.
"You are not an angel nor demon. . . You are my Christmas."
My chest heaves, but the words are able to come out. I lean forward and hold his face in both of my hands; my palms are tiny compared to his features. I wipe away the tears that stain his cheeks. I sniffle in tiny gasps of air, not wanting to look away or take my attention away for him for a second. How can he think he took advantage of me?
"You don't manipulate what I want to see," I tell him. "You make me see what is already there: true reality, Taehyung."
He doesn't respond. He closes his eyes and grasps my tiny wrists in his hands, urging me to release him. I do, slowly, holding my breath in anticipation for him to do something. Don't leave, I mentally beg him.
I continue to convince him; assure him. I'm starting to panic, rambling with every thought I have because he is not saying anything. What can I say to make him believe me?
"I am not ignorant. You didn't take advantage of me. You never did, and you never will. I am here, with you, because I want to be."
I have met many people here at Loomis. There is a certain darkness to everyone—a looming dark presence that plagues the entirety of the campus—but I will not fool myself and say that Taehyung has this darkness. He is tempting, sensual, alluring, and everything in between, but Kim Taehyung is not a manipulator. He doesn't hold that darkness I feel on this campus. It is the same darkness I pretend does not exist within myself. . .
"Baby," he mumbles. The sound of the pet name soothes me. He has calmed down significantly in the small span of time, but I haven't. My fingers are shaking and my breathing is uneven. "I think you need time to process what I've told you."
"Tae. . ." I trail softly. "I-I didn't know you nine years ago, but that doesn't matter. I know you now. I trust in the person you are now. The person who thrills me, excites me, allows me to be who I am: who I really am."
I reach forward again, placing my hands on his chest. I can feel how hard his heart is thumping. What can I say to ease his mind? How can I convince him that this reality we have with each other is not fabricated?
I inhale a deep breath before exposing the deepest part of me, the depth that I do not push away. . . the part of me I want to display. The picture I paint for him.
"Taehyung, you need to trust me when I say that I love you."
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𝓪/𝓷
catching on? :D
To clarify, there is no location specified in this book. That means there is no definite legal system in place/no defined age of consent (usually varying from 14-18 years of age). I am not implying that the relationship was illegal; it is more of an ethical/moral dilemma than a legality one. teacher/student not adult/minor. It highlights the manipulation/deception theme in the book!
thank you so much for reading. I hope you are enjoying how the story unfolds! ♡ please vote and comment what you think!