#bdcnetwork

Among the plenty that are already relishing in their pre-game concoctions, you have a red Solo cup in hand while your best friend, Jisoo goes off to find some more for the two of you. It’s an experience you both decide to try together, so you beam at her when she approaches you with two more cups with different-colored liquids all sloshing around inside.

Once you managed to down the first cup of the keg beer, washing it down with a quarter of the half-empty Sprite bottle as a chaser. When your friend offers you a multi-colored mixture reeking with the sharp scent of tequila and some other unidentifiable drinks, your visage scrunches the moment you take a sip.

“What did you do it?”

Jisoo’s nose scrunches as she laughs sheepishly, “Sorry. I saw a bunch of stuff at the table, so I just mixed whatever.”

“Couldn’t you have watched somebody before you did that?” you guffaw, switching the cup for the bottle of Sprite. The carbonation thankfully fizzing away the godawful mango margarita aftertaste. She makes only a slight face and claims that you should’ve gone if her bartending skills were going to be an issue. “I mean I’m not judging… okay, I am, but Jisoo, try that and tell me if you actually like it.”

The red-haired girl shrugs, reaching for your rejected cup and doing as you suggested. Her expression is the same as yours, and you take this opportunity to laugh at her.

“See!” You grab a safe-looking cup from her other hand, feeling grateful when she chokes out that it’s Blue Moon brew. “Thank god—”

In the distance, you swear you heard someone yell something but it all falls on deaf hears and melts into the discordant sounds around you two. Somewhere in the mix, the part where you might’ve zoned the fuck out with batting an eyelash, you find yourself unscathed one moment and suddenly a projectile target the next.

“Well, oh shit—!” Jisoo looks at your top with a half-open mouth before she shoves the cups onto a nearby bench. “Lemme go find something to clean that up.”

You don’t even know how it happened exactly nor do you really register that Jisoo has scurried away, but the beer in hand winds up all over your cropped T-shirt and the pungent scent is your reality check. The already thin material clings to your skin, making you wish that you had packed extra clothes like you intended when you found out you were coming to the beach.

To your right lies a black soccer ball adorned with red lines for accents, and you immediately regret standing so close to the play area.

Should’ve seen that one coming. You look down at your poor T-shirt. Just great.

You look up and around in hopes of finding the perpetrators—scurrying away or not—or Jisoo, and to your surprise, you’re met with an attractive boy with a head of sable locks brushed toward the back of his head. He couldn’t have been much older than yourself, but getting a good look at him had you stop mid-thought as it registered in your brain just how handsome he is. With olive skin and dark-brown eyes the same shade of coffee, you especially note how plump his lips are as he speaks to you: “Fuck, I am so sorry! My friends and I weren’t paying attention to how close we were getting to the crowd until—well—that,” he gestures to you, “happened.”

You blink, shaking your head as you look at him and back to your shirt, and it suddenly becomes clear on what he was referring to. You immediately cross your arms over your chest, feeling your cheeks burn even hotter than before you stepped out of the dance floor with Jisoo for those cursed drinks as you reply, “I-it’s fine. Accidents happen. U-um—”

“—Shit, I’m still sorry. Did you bring any extra clothes?” he asks, scratching the back of his head. He takes a step back and reaches over to grab the ball from your right, giving you a small peek of his lean arms.

“I actually didn’t.” You huff under your breath, “unfortunately.”

“—lemme guess… sorry?” you say this in hopes of turning the bitter moment into something a little more lighthearted. Although you could’ve been raging at how incompetent him and his friends were, you can’t help but feel a little lax about the situation. At the very least, he came over to apologize, and not many guys or even people alone would do that, so you’re kind of grateful to find out he’s not an asshole. Well, sort of. That depended entirely on how this guy would going to react to your minor quip.

He feigns surprise (though his eyes briefly showed it for real), even clutching his chest as he replies, “How’d you know?” He leans closer, and you swear your heart skipped a beat. “Are you a psychic?”

“Mind reader, actually,” you correct him, cupping your ear after an idea passes your mind. “Oh, I’m getting something from you though.”

“Oh really?” He raises his eyebrows at you, a grin curving on his lips when you nod. “What is it?”

You feign a small gasp, “You brought extra clothes and you want to lend me a T-shirt?”

It takes him a moment to process what you’ve just said (something a part of you only mildly  feared that he would brush you off considering most people who pause like that do not appreciate your humor), but to your surprise, when your words do reach him, he throws his head back and lets out a full-bellowing laugh. 

“Was that a yes or no?” you ask after the sound dwindles down, unsure of whether that constitutes as a good response or a bad one.  

“Right,” he says with a nod, much calmer than a moment ago. “You’re in luck! I do.”

You let out a breath of relief and mutter, “Oh thank fuck. You’re a lifesaver—oh, what’s your name?”

“Jimin.”

“Well, thank you, Jimin.” you say with a smile. “Seriously, you’re a lifesaver.”

He waves you off, “It was my fault anyway. Me and my friends weren’t being careful.” It takes him a moment of standing there until he takes the opportunity to ask, “What’s your name? Unless you prefer going by Mind Reader.”

You laugh and shake your head, “No, you can call me Y/N. Calling me Mind Reader would be way too obvious. Someone might report me to the CIA or somethin’.”

The grin on Jimin’s features grows wider, a gesture that has you feeling obligated to return even if it is starting to hurt your face muscles. You can’t help but note that he has quite a nice, rather contagious smile. Before he can say a word, someone yells his name and soon a taller brunet donning a white T-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts appears.

“Hey, everything okay over here?” he asks, looking between you and Jimin.

There’s a breeze that has you crossing your arms tighter over your chest, though you still give a nod as Jimin replies, “yeah, I’ll be back. I’m gonna lend her a shirt, so you guys continue the game.”

The mystery boy nods, looking at you and then Jimin once again. His doe-like eyes reminding you of a child’s as interest piques in the dark hues. He smiles at you and you return the gesture, watching as he leaves with the ball to a boy with chestnut brown locks and one with fiery red hair. The other two boys in question look over in your direction with the corners of their lips turned upwards though you make no comment of it as you turn to look at Jimin, who seems to be fishing in his pockets for his car keys.

Once he manages to locate them and you nod, you two begin to walk toward his parking spot. You decide to send Jisoo a text message that you’ll be back in ten minutes (of course citing that you found a spare T-shirt but leaving out the beer spiller in question) just so the poor girl won’t lose her head when you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.

“I’m surprised you’re not fuming that some idiotic guy spilled beer on you.” he says as you both make your way away from the rest of the party.

When you accidentally bump him while shrugging, you take immediately take note of how warm he is and continue on to responding, “It was an accident, so why am I going to get mad?” 

“You’re surprisingly lax too,” he says, looking over at you with the corners of his lips still upturned. “Blunt, too.”

He’s awfully observant, isn’t he?

“Is that a bad thing?” You even throw in, “This is how I usually am, by the way. I’m not drunk…” Taking a moment to pause, you admit, “Okay, I’m like almost tipsy but still a-okay!”

You two have made it onto the wooden steps, where he has you step first. He follows close behind and muses, “It’s not bad. Just different.”  

Truthfully, there’s just something calming about being at the beach, so as much as you probably would’ve freaked out at him had this been at any regular house party (because let’s be real, who in their right mind would play soccer indoors in a crowded frat house anyway?), you realize you didn’t feel the need to with him as you both approach ‘96 muted gold Volkswagen Hatchback. That one specifically catches your eyes as it stands as probably one of the oldest cars in the lot. Plus, it makes you smile, because it reminds you of your mother’s Nissan Altima from the same year, and much to almost everyone else’s amazement, that thing’s still kicking (even now in your possession).

He lets out a sigh, warning you, “Don’t rag on Ash, alright? He’s an oldie but runs well enough.”

You look at him incredulously and relinquish a small laugh. “You’re one of those guys?”

“What?” he says, walking backwards past two other cars. “There’s nothing wrong with naming your car. I bet you named yours.”

You roll your eyes and give a small shrug. “Okay, yeah I did. But Ash? Didja get that from Hatch?”

His mouth drops open ever-so-slightly, he stops right in front of the trunk so you do the same.

You blink, “What?”

“How’d you know? Most people think it’s ‘cuz of the color.”

“Well, when you say Hatch the ‘-atch’ part is almost like Ash,” you explain, seeing some strange relief flood his eyes. “When I was a kid, I used to say ‘hash.’”

“Funny, me too!” Patting the trunk, he adds with a breathy laugh, “This used to be my Dad’s so I just kept up the name I guess.”

From the looks of the scratches and the chipping paint, the car is pretty well-worn for wear but you understand from your mom that old cars like those could still run good as new. Probably even better if taken care of properly. It’s literally a hunk of metal, and in any given situation involving a car crash with a newer model, the oldies are the ones that would come out relatively unscathed. Your mom drilled that into your head and even did the same as Jimin’s dad with your current car, gifting it to you as a parting college gift so you know the desire to name your car comes from sentimental value.

“Cute, you can definitely tell he’s seen a thing or two. Is it a he?”

He rolls his eyes this time, “duh!”

You laugh, “Well, he reminds me of Jiji.” When Jimin looks over at you with his brows drawn upward in curiosity, you reply, “My mom’s old car. I loved Kiki’s Delivery Service and the car’s this interesting shade of black that can come off as this glossy, deep forest green in the sun, so I just thought the name fit.”

He can’t contain his smile, “Cute, I bet he’s seen a few things as well then.”

Your mouth falls open slightly, not missing the pronoun that falls off that stupidly plump lips, “You’ve seen it?”

“I liked it a lot, actually. Among many other Ghibli films...” he admits. “Plus, who would I be if I hadn’t seen those movies? All of them are classics.” 

“True, I’d have to disown you as my lifesaver for that.” He snorts in response, only fumbling with his car keys once.

You don’t say another word after that, deciding to let him continue his task so a silence ensues as he pops open the trunk to rummage through the assortment of bags, a few empty chip bags and cups (an exception to his silence as he cursed his friends), and even a few cups of Gatorade before he settles on a faded red duffle bag. Inside he has a pair of jeans, a T-shirt, and a hoodie, with a few other things though you pretend not to notice the Trojan wrapper as he hands you the plain black T-shirt.

“Thanks.” The scent of whatever cologne he used already wafting the open sea air and mixing with the sea breeze. To say the least, it wasn’t a surprise that it smelled so nice or that it was fresh and warm, like him. 

“No problem!” He says with the trash in his hands, “Can you get the trunk for me?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you say, shutting it as he walks toward the trash can by the stairs, and mumbles a few more curses at his friends. “I’m gonna change real quick!”

He replies with an affirmation and remains where he is as soon as his keys land safely in your hands. His gaze seems to be locked on the descending sky.

Rather than escaping to the bathroom near the edge of the party with a line far too long for your liking, you wedge yourself his car and some grey Lexus, opening the back door and making sure the tree in front of you can cover you once you’ve crouched down and strip off your damp shirt. The back of your shirt is used as a makeshift rag to get off the residual moisture on your abdomen and part of your bra, although it’s nothing like rinsing off in an actual shower, you’re feeling exponentially better as the soft, dry cotton his shirt kisses your now semi-dry skin. Some of his cologne even doing some work to staunch the alcohol fumes.

Once you come back up, you see him by the stairs and make your way over. He lets you go first, gesturing to the steps with an extended arm parallel to the rusted metal railing.

There’s a spring in your step despite the reminder of what could’ve been a ruined evening still cradled in your arms. But then immediately after thinking of your ruined shirt, you can’t help but think of Jimin and how helpful and fun it’s been just getting to know him in such a short amount of time. It makes you happy, half-tipsy or not.

“So, favorite Ghibli movie?” you ask, looking at him over your shoulder. He looks like he’s debating something from the way his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, but as soon as he finds your gaze trained on him, he simply runs a hand through his hair and smiles at you.

“How much are you gonna judge me if I say Spirited Away?”

You scoff, a smile curving on your lips, “I would not, that’s a classic! Who am I to judge?”

“Good, ‘cuz yeah. That one.” He says this right as you ask, “So, why that one?”

You two laugh, unconsciously slowing down as you reach about halfway down the stairs.

There’s a point where it levels out, a particular drop that is about a step and a half farther than you remember. The sudden loss of footing that you must’ve miscalculated happens far too quickly, and your heart is practically thundering in your chest like after you’ve abruptly woken up from one of those dreams where you’re falling. But it’s in that moment where your brain is even more aware than usual, its hyperactivity sensitive to the feeling of his chest pressed against your back. His arm latched around your shoulders like an awkward back hug, but you don’t really notice it so much because 1) he’s so goddamn warm and 2) he’s still holding onto you even after you’ve gotten your balance back.

“Careful there,” he laughs, his grip on you firm and slightly calloused but still gentle. He leans close to your ear with a lighthearted titter. “Maybe you aren’t just tipsy after all.”

You retort, trying to hide the fact that you nearly toppled over, because you’ll be damned to acknowledge that part of the reason might’ve been due to him and his close proximity. “Maybe the beer fumes are messing with my motor functions, thanks to someone.”

He points out, “Well, you have a clean shirt on so what’s your excuse now?”

“Secondhand beer fumes from my skin, duh.” You look over at him when his arm slips away from your shoulders (despite your hand acting on its own accord to brush against his right hand), watching as his eyes form adorable half moons. The hickory hues aren’t focused on some ridiculous scene at the party in amusement either; in fact, they’re trained on you. “What?”

“You’re really cu—”

“—Jimin!” Before you can hear his answer, there’s a loud shrill of discombobulated sounds at the edge of the partying group. There are four boys beckoning your new friend over, goofy grins plastered all over their visages even in the incandescent street lamps lighting the general vicinity. The red-haired one is whispering something to the chestnut brunet and another brunet different from the one earlier appears to be laughing about something while the dark brunet with the doe eyes looks on expectantly.

Jimin catches your attention by speaking: “Sorry.” He scratches the back of his head, breaking your eye lock to see his friends still waving at the bottom. “I better get going before they get annoying.”

“Wait, what were you gonna say?” you ask, raising a brow at him. You feel inclined to ask, though you would’ve been fine to let him go anyway. You just can’t help but want to keep him there just a little longer. You notice that when he glances over at the quad of boys, he actually appears more embarrassed than hesitant.

“Right, I’m sure they can spare this a second… I think?” he lets out a small huff, part of it exhaling as a laugh, a rather nervous one at that. His cheeks dust with a prevalent shade of rouge, his plush, pink lips parted to repeat his previous words: “I was saying you’re really—”

Until the sound of your name halts him, breaking your attention from him to your own red-haired friend waving at you with a free hand. She says something but you can hardly hear her as you feel guilt creep up on you for the sudden interruption and it only deepens as both of your friends continue to wait there with expectant expressions (and that’s enough for you feel unnerved because you assured Jisoo you wouldn’t be meeting anyone at the party either).

“Jimin, hurry up!”

His hand grazes yours as you both walk onto the sand toward your respective friends, both parties seemingly watching the exchange with a glint in their eyes that neither of you could necessarily decipher from the dim lighting and from the sheer uncertainty. Of course, you’re absolutely certain that Jisoo’s going to inquire further about him, her eyes are wider than ever because the shirt on your form is not the slick T-shirt from earlier but rather a bigger and baggier one that’s fitted for a guy. And you can already hear murmurs from the boys awaiting Jimin, something about Yoongi and Joon, so you assume they’re going to meet up with their other friends.

You barely look at him as you both arrive to your friends, though you catch sight of the shy smile on his lips at the jeering of the four other guys. Many of which have gotten a better look at you underneath the light before turning their attention back on the dark-haired man and slapping him on the back as they lead him back to the beach for an excursion of games, perhaps even some actual partying now that the rest of the goers have lit the bonfire.

He tips his head back toward you one last time, a small smile in your direction until the taller brunet leans over to whisper something. Of what, you have no clue so you just watch for a split second before your gaze flickers back to your red-haired friend. You sneak a look but you don’t see him because the small group has already managed to disappear into the sea of people.   

You begin walking once Jisoo latches an arm around you, smiling mischievously. “New shirt? And a boy?” she comments before taking a sip of her cup. “Please tell me you’re gonna share the details.”

With a laugh, slipping your arm out of her grasp to sling it around her shoulders. “Honestly? His name’s Jimin and he was the beer-spiller.”

Jisoo looks at you, slack-jawed. She guffaws, “You’re kidding! You didn’t kill him either. Wow, you must be getting softer considering he didn’t come back crying.”

Even just the mention of that incident has you huffing, “Shut up. That was one time!”

“Anyway, he’s hot, Y/N. Kudos for scoring his number,” she says, bumping your hip. You let her move you, but she wraps an arm around your waist to keep you beside her.

It dawns on you that the one thing you did not do was one of the most simplest, especially considering you’d have to return his shirt sometime. Literally all you had to do was ask, yet it managed to go over your head. “Well…”

She tilts her head at you and asks, “You didn’t get his number?” 

Fuck, now how am I going to return this to him?

From the silence she receives, your best friend has her answer but that doesn’t deter her from straightening her head and grinning at you even wider than earlier.

With furrowed brows and a semi-scowl on your lips, because what did she know that you didn’t? You inquire, “What?”

“I mean Jennie tells me that just means he intends to see you again. Preferably before the night ends.”

“That’s ridi—”

“—Is it though?” She even arches her brow at you. “You do have his shirt. Even better if it’s his favorite one. And from the looks of it, you two seemed to be getting along quite well.”

Still, you shrug, trying not to read too much into the whole fiasco. No matter how attractive Jimin is, you have a way of rationalizing your way out of those sorts of speculations.

Perhaps he just forgot.

“I’m not too worried about it. Whatever happens will happen.”

She rolls her eyes at you, pinching your side and ignoring the yelp you give. She again ignores you and the pointed glare you send her way, “At the very least just know that his friends are pretty certain he digs you.” 

“You heard them?” She nods, chugging down the rest of the cup’s contents. You harden your features just to see the pout on her face, simply responding, “That doesn’t change anything.”

Because it doesn’t.

“Brat,” she say, tapping your head with the empty cup. “Let’s just go drink and dance. Maybe we’ll see your boy toy along the way!”

Before you can protest her comment, she slips out of your grasp and wiggles her hips to the beat of the electronic bass. She beckons you forth with her index fingers, leading the two of you past the heart of the circle and toward the beverages. She grabs another two keg beer cups—obviously (read: thankfully) learning from her initial mistake—and slips one toward you.

She holds her cup out toward you and says, “Cheers!”

You roll your eyes at her, feeling a swelling in your heart as you tap the edge of her cup and utter a fuck it.

“Cheers!”

/

You slip away for a moment. One fucking moment. And you return to your group’s meeting spot after braving a half-hour long line to use the restroom and wiping away the sweat that accumulated at the corners of your forehead with the back of your hand, powering through the burn in your thighs from an hour-and-a-half long dance session with the girls—and that in itself has become nothing more than a blur of swaying, bass, and heat emitting from your friends’ bodies—and the minor headache throbbing in the back of your head. All for the crowd (that has already gotten significantly smaller than earlier) without Chungha, Lisa, or Jennie in sight.

Jisoo’s there, perched on a log in all her red-haired glory by her lonesome, somehow swaying to the beat of the song. The previous DJ must’ve left because the music is different from earlier, much more akin to songs blasting radio music from a portable speaker than the songs playing earlier on an actual speaker system. But all you can think is where the fuck did our friends go? Because you’d be damned not to spot Lisa’s orange hair anywhere, but for reasons beyond you, she isn’t there.

“Where’s everybody?” When you take a seat beside her, she cranes her head toward you with a smile curled on the corner of her lips but still no answer. “Ji—”

She lays her head on your shoulder. “They left!”

You blink, trying to meet her eyes in some way but they’ve shut already. “What do you mean they left? They’re our rides.”

“I told them about Jimin.”

You groan, fearing that the answer you have in your head is the one she’s about to tell you. “Why would you do that? What did you even say?”

“That he’s your cute boy. ‘nd you didn’t get his number yet,” she answers, trying to bury her head further into your body.

“So that made them leave?” You know damn well that Chungha wouldn’t have done that unless someone told her they’d manage a ride otherwise.

“I said that we’d manage.” she pouts at your visible frown. “I’m helping you!”

You groan loudly, shaking her off to kneel in front of her. Her whines are pointedly ignored as the log becomes her pillow. “You dummy! Why would you give up our ride like that?”

“He’ll give us a ride,” she says, opening one of her eyes. “I know what’m doin’.”

You glare at her, raising a brow. “And how do you know that?”

“B’cuz his friends said they’d carpool with other people so he’d have room for you.”

You blink, tilting your head at her as both eyes shut once again. You continue to look at her anyway. You’re unsure of how to feel exactly with this news considering the reality that you two are half an hour away from campus without a ride. Of course, you could always call Chungha back but that was your last resort with the chance that security wouldn’t allow her to leave without signing out. And the hard truth is a part of you kind of liked the news Jisoo just supplied you with; you hadn’t even said a word about Jimin supplying his friends with rides, making her story check out to some degree. But the glaring extent was the fact that her own credibility was compromised by the simple fact that she was very much drunk so whether it was true (you hoped) or not was entirely a crapshoot.

That alone has your legs ready to give out from underneath you at the sheer exhaustion of the situation. Even if she was correct about Jimin (you highly doubted it) that still meant trying to find him and coaxing a ride out of him. It might’ve been possible if he hadn’t left already and he was just that nice of a person but there was still no saying who had left and stayed from the looks of the party. Plus, you hadn’t seen him once since you two parted ways (and you know damn well you looked as best as you could in your position).

“For all we know, he could’ve left already,” you sigh, looking over at Jisoo as her features contorted now that the alcoholic influences were catching up to her. You would’ve laughed had you not felt so stressed. You stand up to ease your stomach and look around for any familiar faces—Jimin or not—for the sole reason in asking any other friend of yours for a ride back to the school. 

“Maybe someone we know is still around.” you say, turning on your heel to go back into the crowd. You crane your head back over to Jisoo, only slightly scowling (not that she could see it) to say, “Stay put, I’m gonna go find us a ride.”

“Bu—”

“—No but’s. Just stay,” you huff, already walking into the even sparser circle. You don’t spot anyone you know, feeling a knot of anxiety formulate in the pit of your stomach.

Goddammit Jisoo.

“Fu—” you stop yourself, stay calm.

You’d like to think you’re a relatively calm person anyway, especially as you’re walking past unfamiliar people who are doing a mix of actual dancing and half-assed swaying. Even with no one somewhat familiar in sight, whether it’s a floormate or someone from the same dorm building, you try to keep your cool as you weave between bodies, feeling the heat of the fire as you stop at the outskirts of the group circle to catch your breath.

Damm—

“—Y/N?” You blink at the sudden feeling a hand on your shoulder. Out of a reflex, you reach over and almost smack the perpetrator’s chest with an open palm when it registers that the voice belongs to the very devil himself—Jimin.

“Jimin?” you ask, looking over at him and dropping your hand. “You’re still here?”

He laughs, looking the same as ever—still breathtakingly handsome—as he says, “Yeah. I was just helping my DJ friend pack up and load his stuff.”

You muse, “No wonder the music started sucking just a few moments ago.”  

He smile broadly, “I’ll be sure to tell him that everything he played was a hit.” He tilts his head over at you, “you’re still here. Did you lose your friend?”

You shake your head, feeling a little embarrassed to admit the true circumstances of your predicament but he continues to look at you patiently. “The rest of my friends left, so I’m looking for a ride for me and my best friend actually.”

He just laughs and says, “How about I give you two a ride then?”

Dammit, Jisoo.

You’re scratching the back of your head, feeling your own cheeks give away your emotions. At least until his words register and then you say, “What about your friends? I thought you’re in charge of carpool?”

“My friends ditched me for another driver.” he fake sniffs, straightening his head. “So, what do you say?”

“You’re sober right?”

He nods, holding up his hand. “As sober as can be. Scout’s Honor.” He sniffs indignantly, “I was the DD earlier after all.”

It’s nothing to really ponder that intensively, his offer is simply out of convenience after all, so you make the executive decision of nodding. “Sure,” you smile as he does. “First the shirt, now a ride home. You’re seriously a lifesaver.”

He winks, extending his arm outward to say, “I have to make up for being a beer spiller somehow. Lead the way.”

As you begin toward Jisoo, you can’t help but look over at Jimin and say, “Y’know your friends planned on ditching you right? Jisoo overheard them.”

He exhales sharply, nodding. “I suspected that when Yoongi—that DJ friend of mine—sent me back onto the beach to double check if he left anything. And believe me, if you knew him then you’d know how anal he is about leaving anything out. Especially his equipment.”

“This wasn’t some plot of yours to get me by my lonesome was it?” you ask, raising a brow at him. You make sure not to sound too serious, because you would actually be flattered that he would (solely based on the assumption and hope that he wasn’t a psychopath, of course). “You’re not going to kill me on the side of the road or somethin’?”

His brows have since arched upwards at the beginning of these inquiries; however, it isn’t long until he’s giggling as they register. “Don’t worry. As much as I was hoping to see you again, this wasn’t intentional on my end.” By now the two of you are a good meter away from Jisoo. “And, for the record, I am not going to murder you on the side of the road. Or murder you, period. Mind reading powers or not, I’d prefer you live long enough to save the world.”

“And how do you know I intend to use these powers for good?” you quip, earning a laugh from him. You turn your attention on Jisoo when you’re a good foot from the log she’s still perched on. “Chu, you good?”

The aforementioned raises her head, one eye peeking open as she gives a small shake of her head.

“My tummy hurts. T’won’t stop going ‘grrr!’” she whines, turning onto her back. Luckily, she has a large green flannel to keep her warm from the oceanside air beginning to roll in now that midnight was bleeding into 1AM. It’s almost hard to believe that time has flown by this much, but even just trying to recollect everything is hazy on your brain at the moment.

You’re about to say something but your best friend beckons you forth (which you unwittingly acquiesce and kneel in front of her) and cups her hand around her mouth to loudly whisper, “Can we get something to eat?”

“I dunno if Jimin—”

“Sure, we can.” He smiles at you when you crane your head up at him. “How does 7-Eleven ramen sound?”

To which, Jisoo lets out a cry of happiness.

/

The car glides across the roadway, while a soft ocean breeze passing between the cracked windows. There’s music playing softly, though you don’t know the song that well, you can’t help but smile as you hear Jimin hum along. He looks like he’s in his element even in that briefest instance, completely sober without another thought or worry in the world as he turns into the semi-familiar parking lot, with the bright lights of the 7-Eleven peeking into the car. Their windows are adorned with falling posters of Big Gulps and coffee, but those do nothing to make your mouth water compared to the small cups of ramen adorning the shelves.

Looking down at Jisoo, her head still nestled atop your thighs and eyes still shut tightly, you actually feel a little bad for disturbing her from the much needed rest she’s going to need after tonight’s adventure. But the idea of her stomach hurting after ingesting all that alcohol makes you lean forward and poke her cheek, though that does nothing to stir her. As you whisper her name, allowing the tips of your hair to graze her face, you see her nose scrunch.

She doesn’t say anything above a whisper, “I want chicken ramen.”

She raises her head only to give you enough room to scoot out but she curls back into a ball and lays her head down onto the seat. “J’st go! ‘M tired.”

“Alright, one chicken ramen coming right up,” you sigh, giving her shoulder a pat before shutting the door. You’re immediately met by the cold and Jimin, the latter shoots your friend a sympathetic look before he turns to you.

His brows are drawn upward as he asks, “she okay?”

While he makes sure the doors are locked, you respond, “Just sleepy. She requests chicken ramen.”

“Beef’s where it’s at,” he laughs, beginning to walk alongside you toward the well-lit building and the solace of warmth. You can practically feel the heater as you’re underneath the proximity of the store’s brick-red canopy.

“Right?” You pass him by as he opens the door for you, letting the door flutter shut behind and banishing the cool air.

Inside is as comforting as the sight outside with a long green table by the hot water kettle toward the right upon entering to the cozily placed shelves that made the vicinity feel a lot smaller than you would think. Albeit it’s brighter than your eyes have adjusted to, you do so gradually and feel the blasting heat smoothing your gooseflesh away. It’s pretty much a utopia of brightly packaged snacks and other roadside foods, with the scent of coffee beans wafting the air alongside the distinct pinch of sugar that has your stomach rumbling even more than before. Your cheeks are still cool to the touch, but you know that it’d burn on any other given chance.

“Hungry?” Jimin quips though he receives no response, just a small, playful eye roll. Nudging your shoulder, he begins to lead you toward the goods by hand. His palms are still remarkably warm, and still notably soft as he sifts through the shelves for the desired packages. Soon enough, he comes back with two beef-flavored and a chicken-flavored Maruchan soups. 

The cashier accepts Jimin’s money before you can fish out your wallet, pointing the two of you to the hot water stations. The latter doesn’t look back at you, only accepting the narrowed look you shoot his way until after he receives the receipt. Of course, you wouldn’t have minded paying for yours and Jisoo’s but you still admit your gratitude to him since he did pay (and did so much more) after all.

When he comes to the table bearing the gift of the glorious noodles, you move Jisoo’s still packaged soup to the side so your food is front of you. With a pair of chopsticks bestowed to you, you smile at him and get ready to say yet another admission of gratitude. 

“Seriously, thank you,” you say, allowing him to fill the cups by holding the chopsticks. “You’ve done more than enough for me tonight.”

He meets your eyes, looking at you with a soft smile. He replies, “It’s no problem. You haven’t been a burden or anything.”

“Are you just saying that?” you ask, raising a brow. “Because I’ll try to repay you somehow.”

“You don’t have to—”

You laugh, trying to look even more stern though probably failing, “Oh yes I do! I work at the campus coffee shop by the Quad, so please come by okay? I can bestow you with the best gift all college students would kill for.”

His eyes light up. “Free textbooks?”

You laugh again, giving his arm a light smack. “Me and you both wish I could do that.”

“Well, I’ll remember your offer the next time I need a caffeine fix then.”

“Promise?” You don’t mean to be so childish but of course you can’t help but stick your pinky finger out just to see what he’ll do. It’s a little thrilling to see just how he’ll respond to your antics, not that many people can truly say they agree with them, but seeing him as he laughs and goes along with it makes you very happy.

Hell, he even presses his thumb to yours and says with feigned solemnity, “I promise.”

A comfortable silence falls over you two, giving you an opportunity to dig into the cup of noodles. You relish in the taste, allowing the warmth to soothe your muting stomach and feeling a lot more sober. It’s nice just to sit there beside Jimin, knowing that Jisoo’s comfortably in the backseat of his car where she couldn’t be causing any more trouble or running all over the place had she taken something with a little more strength. You know she won’t mind you eating now, with her resting for tomorrow, she’s sure to unleash a ball of gloating your way because she was right about what she told you on the beach. Still, you hope she forgets so you don’t have to hear about it.

As you glance over at Jimin yet again, the reminder of what you were supposed to ask him strikes you. He’s just eating like yourself and looking just as peaceful. He seems to feel your stare, turning to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?” he says after finishing his bite of food.

You do the same, muttering an apology before you say, “I have two questions for you.”

“S’fine, shoot.”

As you’re placing your chopsticks atop of the cup, you ask, “What were you going to tell me at the party? Y’know before we were so rudely interrupted by your friends and mine?”

He laughs at your exaggeration but it sounds off by a few octaves, causing you to narrow your eyes ever-so-slightly. He scratches the back of his head, this time a breathy chuckle chases after his sharp exhale. “You still remember that?”

You laugh, noting the way his cheeks turned an even rosier shade of red. “I might’ve been sort of tipsy but I’m certainly not an amnesiac.”

“Well…”

“What?” You tilt your head to the side, a smirk teasing at the corners of your lips, “shy all of a sudden?”

“Kind of? Like I said before, you’re so open and upfront it seems so random to tell you.” He admits sheepishly, “Plus, I have a very strong feeling that this is gonna come off as either very fuckboy or very cheesy to you.” 

When he rolls his eyes and cheeks still reddening, you amend the situation just a bit, obviously still very much curious. “C’mon you can tell me. It wouldn’t be as random as saying you like the swedish meatballs from IKEA or something.“

He bursts into laughter, eliciting a smile of your own, again. Your brain is very loud and clear in voicing just how nice that smile of his is, and you’re not even going to attempt to deny that much. Instead you focus on his lips as he says, “True, well,” he pauses, glancing at the table. “I was gonna say you looked really cute earlier.”

“How so?” You add as you see his mouth open, “That’s not my second question, by the way. Consider it a follow-up and totally unrelated.”

He nods, still smiling, “Just when you were teasing me it struck me even more than when I first approached you.”

This time you nod, happy to see his eyes so you can say, “Well, thank you.”

”You’re welcome.”

After a moment, the two of you actually taking that break to get another bite of the noodles, he says, “So, question two?”

“Oh right!” you say, still holding onto your chopsticks. “How am I supposed to get this shirt back to you?”

He doesn’t say anything immediately afterwards. Like at all. He just pauses, eyes darting to the solace of the soup. The rouge on his cheeks are creeping upward like vines, decorating his skin with flowers blooming on a spring day, and it actually makes you curious as to what he’s thinking. From what you’ve accessed about him, he’s a bit of a flirt with loads of bashfulness peeking between the cracks. Definitely the type to know what he wants, but not the kind to know how to voice it too seriously. Just the fact that he’s struggling to articulate himself makes him even more adorable especially when that conflicted expression of his melts into something akin to confidence.

“I was thinking we could actually exchange numbers….” he answers, slowly meeting your eyes.

“Who knew you were one for being forward?” you say, leaning closer to his pink-cheeked visage. “Sure.”

He can’t help but remain trained where he is, probably registering the fact that you are indeed this close without a bat of your eyelashes. Of course, your brain is screaming at you for being this close in his proximity, but another part of you doesn’t seem to care. In fact, if you lacked any more self-control than you already did, you might’ve actually leaned in to kiss him.

He suddenly blurts out, “Y-you look good in my shirt.”

His fingertips graze the hem gingerly before he looks back up at you raising a brow at him. The deathly serious look on your face only lasting long enough for you to ask, “Is that your way of saying that I can keep it then...?”

And right then, he does that thing where he throws his head back and laughs again, “No! I actually really like this shirt, okay?”

You hold your hands up in surrender, replying as soon as it seems like he has nothing more to say, “Thank you.”

When you look down at your styrofoam cup, you find it a devoid of noodles and much soup. Much like Jimin, the two of you are quite dismayed at the lack thereof, because it means you have to part ways. You know you have to go, but it feels like you’re only just beginning to get to know him. And still, there’s feels like there’s more to do even if what you have visualized in the back of your mind is merely an impulse touch of your lips and caress of fingertips. You’re feeling brave too. Maybe it’s the booze or maybe it’s your own brain telling you not to miss out on this moment, because carpe diem right? (Or carpe noctem to be more specific?) You’re young and isn’t this the type of shit you’re supposed to do on nights like this anyway?

Before you can say a word, he slides his phone open and pulls up the dialer. “Number?”

You recite the digits for him. He does the same for you, even posing for a contact photo just for you. He’s simply smiling but the way his eyes form half moons, and his lips stretch across his face, revealing his dimples makes you feel smile as well.

“You want your picture taken too?” You laugh, smiling anyway. He snaps it quickly, looking satisfied. But he can’t seem to take his eyes off you as he sets his phone down.

“What?” you tilt your head at him.

“You look really cute.”

“You told me that already,” you giggle, leaning on your elbow and unconsciously moving closer to him.

“You tell me something then,” he suggests, following in your example.

“I’d let you kiss me right now.”  

He lets out a small laugh directed to himself as he mutters, “Jesus, you’re really the forward one here.”

Curiosity washes over your eyes as you ask, “But would you let me?”

He pretends to think for a moment, glancing at you with feigned exaggeration and a smile. “Yeah, I truthfully would.”

You decide it can’t hurt. You’re young and maybe this is dumb, but you certainly can’t say that this is something you’ll regret. Perhaps after you return the shirt, you’ll never see him again. His numbers nothing more than a forgotten contact like the ones you accumulate within a quarter until they become useless in the next one. It’s a pessimistic way to see new people, but you know that’s just the reality of college.

Before you can lean in, he looks at you earnestly and asks, “You won’t regret this, right?”

You shake your head, leaning in closer, “and you won’t either, right?”  

This time he doesn’t answer, you assume for fear that he might not actually be able to respond with a stutter or even a show of hesitance, but determination washes over his features in the most minute way you almost miss it. And the thudding of your heart ricocheting all around your chest is the only thing you can hear besides the thrum of the slurpee machine besides you.

You can feel Jimin’s hand finds its way onto the far side of your face, comfortably placed at the juncture between your start of your jawline and your hairline. He leans in first and kisses you.