park bench » vkook

1

JUNGKOOK POV IM SORRY I DIDNT PUT THIS IN EARLIER

The park is full of people, the air buzzing with laughter and conversations. The grass is vibrant and green, the late afternoon sun infusing everything with a gold tone. A slight breeze tumbles through the air, my hair ruffling the only clue that it's even there. I sit alone at a picnic table, sheltering myself from unwanted attention with my earbuds. The only thing that truly captures my attention, however, is a boy about my age playing with two young girls. He's beautiful, and I'm too shy and awkward to talk to him.

So I sit here and pretend that he's not the sole reason I come to this park.

He comes here everyday, sometimes with a few friends, sometimes with the little girls, but mostly by himself. He sits at the same bench every time, and I sit at the same table and watch him watch the world. I found that wondering how he sees the world was more fascinating to me than how I saw the world. The bench he occupies is near the back of the park, by the algae infested pond where the trails become overgrown with weeds. Few people venture this far, but enough do that I don't look like a stalker. I suppose, at this point, I am. But when you're bogged down by social anxiety and have a crush on a stranger, there's not much you can do.

My notebook lies on the table, full of my admiration for this boy I can only write about. I watch as he crouches down in front of the two little girls(maybe they're his nieces?) and hides his face behind his hands. The girls giggle and poke him. Then he takes his hands away and pulls a silly face, causing the girls to shriek with laughter. A smile stretches my lips and I look away, staring at my worn notebook. My pencil lies beside it, and I pick it up and tap it against the weathered wooden table. It was once a dark green but years of abuse from the weather have turned it a mottled gray, shot through with the barest peeling green paint. I pick at a curl of it, then run a hand through my hair. I sigh and flip through my notebook to a new page.

I wonder, I write, if you are like me?

Unable to speak and only to see;

afraid and nervous, in awe.

You have made my heart thaw.

I think of plans to speak to you,

but quietly admiring is all I can do.

Your brown hair catches the sun;

you're more than just anyone.

Your smile is pretty and strange

I hope you never change.

When I look up again, the boy is standing up and taking the little girls' hands. He leaves his bag on the bench and they disappear down a trail. I rip out the notebook page and fold it in my fist. As I walk past the bench, I drop the note on his bag, heart pounding. Then I speed walk out of the park, the summer sun blinding me.

That was the first time I've ever done anything to contact the boy, and I have a feeling it won't be the last. How could it be when he has captured my attention so completely?

~~~

I arrive at my apartment out of breath and yell a greeting to my roommate, Hoseok. He's standing in the kitchen, which alarms me.

"What are you doing?" I ask him, narrowing my eyes. He turns around from the stove and grins. He's holding a wooden spoon and a pot sits on the stove top.

"Cooking!" He exclaims. I drop my bag on the couch in the living room and rush to the stove. Fortunately, he hasn't actually turned on the stove yet, and water innocently fills the pot.

"Hoseok, we both know you can't cook!"

"How am I going to get better?" He pouts and puts down the spoon.

"Here's how," I say and grab my phone. I dial the takeout place ten minutes from here and order our usual. "And you can go pick it up."

"Is this how you show respect for your hyung?" Hoseok asks, playfully shoving my shoulder. I roll my eyes, and he flings an arm around my neck. "I'll go pick it up, but only because I love you~"

"You need to find yourself a girlfriend or something," I say, shrugging his arm off. I go into the living room and pick up my bag.

"Or a cat." Hoseok looks at me hopefully, having followed me into the other room.

"For the last time, we aren't allowed pets in this apartment!" I say, exasperated, and walk down the hallway to my room. I can hear Hoseok start singing something, and I can't tell if he's actually singing or joking around. He likes to scream sing to pass the time. I shut my door, and Hoseok's singing become muffled. My room is small and neat, the walls white. My furniture is black; desk, dresser, and bed. My blankets are white. It drives Hoseok crazy; his room is colorful and bursting with posters and pictures, but it gives me a headache every time I go in there to steal a shirt or a snapback. I take my notebook out of my bag and throw it on my desk, slinging the straps of the bag over my chair. I wonder if the boy will find my note, if he'll think it's creepy. I shouldn't have given it to him, it'll just make him think I'm a stalker, which I've already determined I am. I should talk to Hoseok; he actually gives good advice despite his spastic tendencies and impressive array of strange noises.

When Hoseok comes back with the food, I spring my question on him.

"Am I a stalker?" is what I decide to lead with. He chokes on rice and I start laughing, watching his eyes start streaming with no real concern; he chokes all the time, and he hasn't died yet.

"Why are you asking that?" He replies in a what-did-I-do-to-deserve-this tone. He may as well have been asking God what he did wrong in a past life. I tell him about my crush on the boy in the park, and how today I left him a poem. Hoseok takes a meditative bite of food, chewing slowly while I fidget, nervously awaiting his verdict.

"Here's what I think," he begins, over exaggerating his gestures as he steeples his fingers. "You are a stalker, but in a cute, hopelessly-in-love kind of way."

I groan and drop my head to the table.

"Is he going to think it's weird? Like if I confessed to him, ever, would he pepper spray me? Will my eyes and dignity be safe?" I ask, voice rising with hysteria. I frantically lift my head and make desperate eye contact with Hoseok. The imploring look turns to a glare as I see that he's trying to hold back laughter.

"Your eyes will probably be safe; most likely he'll be flattered and only slightly creeped out. Just breathe, Jungkookie," Hoseok advises.

"Don't call me that," I mutter. Hoseok just holds up his hands in an innocent gesture, and we continue eating. After we're done, Hoseok tells me that he's going out.

"Try not to get too drunk," I call jokingly. He laughs and replies, "No promises!" Then the door slams shut and the crabby old woman next door hits the wall with her cane. She likes to do that when she thinks we're being too loud, which is ninety percent of the time. Apart from her cane hitting the wall and faint footsteps from
above, I'm left in silence. And as of late, these silences have been filled with thoughts of the boy. Maybe he's read the poem by now. Maybe he liked it. Maybe someday I'll gather the courage to talk to him. I turn on the TV. And maybe someday Hoseok will stop attempting to scare me.

It's just not likely.

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a/n: yess first chapter !! im super excited for this fic, and i think it'll be relatively short(nowhere near 35 chapters wink wonk) i hope you guys enjoy it ^-^