park bench » vkook

2

I sit down at my picnic table at two o'clock the next day, notebook firmly clutched in my grasp. I don't remember what I did with my pencil, though, and spend the time waiting for the boy to show up looking for it. I finally pluck the pencil from behind my ear as the boy walks into view. He's wearing a snapback, brim facing backwards, and listening to music. He's alone, and damn, he looks really good. I can feel myself blushing bright red as I realize that nobody else is back here besides us. We're separated by thirty feet of gravel path, on either side of the trail, and I stare at the pond, absently wondering what he'd do if I fell in. Probably laugh. My picnic table is closer to the main trail that leads to the more populated area of the park, and I debate leaving. But if I did, then that would draw his attention to me, and my palms start to sweat at the thought. Hopefully he never figures out the poem was from me. If he even read it. He sits backward on the bench so he's facing the pond rather than me, and I study his back profile. I wonder if he's taller than me, and what he smells like. I wonder what his voice sounds like; if I'll ever hear it. Then he turns back around and I snap my gaze back to the table. Just for something to do, I start riffling through my notebook, peeking up every now and then at the boy. He's doing something on his phone, and I'm captivated by the way the sunlight shines on his tan skin.

I bet your voice tastes like honey.

What do you hide with your skin?

I bet your hair holds the sun.

What do you think of when you look at the sky?

I bet your palms map out stories I'll never know.

What makes you happy?

You make me happy.

I slam my notebook closed, slightly embarrassed. I pull my earbuds and phone out of my back pocket and hide my burning cheeks with the music. As I draw closer to him, I speed up and trip over every rock in the path as if my brain can't keep up with my anxiety-fueled feet.

~~~

The next day, I arrive to the park and leave the poem I wrote yesterday on the boy's empty bench. He usually shows up later than I do. Several people crowd the pond today, so I hide my notebook in my bag and try to blend in with the crowd. He shows up ten minutes later, and I spot him immediately. My body swivels towards him like a sunflower to the sun, which causes my eyes to cut away shamefully. He's just a stranger, but I wish he wasn't. I hunch my shoulders forward, like I'm trying to disappear. I take my phone out and text Hoseok.

jungkook
he's sO PRETTY

hoseok
shut up

jungkook
but listen,,

hoseok
no

jungkook
i left him another poem

hoseok
i s2g
come home

I huff at Hoseok's attitude and grab my bag. I cast my gaze around the park, standing up, and the blood drains out of my face as I see the boy. He's looking right at me. I stumble and fall over the bench I was sitting on, landing hard on my butt. My bag smashes into the ground. I start to consider hiding underneath the table for the rest of eternity, but I hear footfalls drawing closer, and look up. Only a few feet away is the boy, and he's wearing a boxy smile. I choke on my own spit as he stops in front of me.

"Are you okay?" He asks. Holy shit. His voice is amazingly deep, and his eyes make me dizzy. He regards me with angelic concern.

"U-uh, um, I-" I stutter intelligently, staring up at him. The sun halos his body, then he's crouching down so his eyes are level with mine. He appears to be struggling to hold in laughter, and my face turns bright red and I want to disappear. He holds out a hand, and I stare at it, not comprehending. Then he curls his fingers, dark eyes turning wide, dropping his chin a little. My heart bangs around inside my chest as I take his hand. His skin is smooth and warm, and his hand envelops mine. He pulls me up, and it's then that I notice the folded paper in his other hand. My eyes snap to his face, and he opens his mouth. I let go of his hand, bow hurriedly, then shoulder my bag and sprint out of the park, leaving the beautiful stranger behind.

~~~

"Hoseok!" I scream as soon as I enter the apartment. I ignore the banging noises from the old lady next door and Hoseok runs into the living room, yelling, "What's wrong? Should I call the hospital?"

"Yes!" I say, then sink down on the couch. Hoseok studies me for a second, noting my lack of injuries. Then he sighs and sits next to me.

"What happened this time?" He asks. I take a deep breath and relay the incident at the park, and his eyes glaze over as I relay every detail of the boy.

"I don't see how you could've screwed up any worse," Hoseok says, laughing. I hit his shoulder.

"This isn't funny!" I hiss. Hoseok fixes me with a disbelieving look, eyebrows climbing his forehead.

"Are you blind?" He demands, then laughs again. I heave a sigh and leave him cackling on the couch, entering my room. I rescue my notebook from my bag before dumping it on the floor next to my desk. I sit down and sigh again, tapping my pencil against the ebony wood. I become absorbed in creating a rhythm, and when I look up, I jump and drop the pencil. Hoseok stands in the doorway, watching me.

"You've been doing that for twenty minutes," he says. I grin sheepishly.

"I think I'm ADHD or something," I say. Hoseok just raises an eyebrow.

"I can't wait until tomorrow," he says, coming in and sitting on my bed.

"But it's Monday tomorrow!"

"Exactly, which means that you have work and the apartment will be quiet." Hoseok flops back on my pillows. I work at a bookstore fifteen minutes away from the apartment, so he's often home alone. I stare at him, unable to tell if he's joking about the 'quiet' part. He forms a double chin to make eye contact with me, and I jump up and mockingly start doing the Touch My Body choreo.

"Hey, I'm over that song now!" He protests, and pantomimes kicking me in the head. His legs would have to grow a feet or two to reach me, and I just laugh.

"The point was that this apartment will never be quiet, unless we're both gone."

"True," he concedes. We lapse into silence, and Hoseok crosses his arms behind his head. I lean down and pick my pencil up, trying to sit still. My body itches.

"Can you get out of my room now?" I ask. He sits up and flashes me a toothy grin before disappearing to his own room. I flip open the notebook to a clean page, tracing the faint lines with my index finger.

Blood rises to my face,

molecules dancing,

skin abuzz.

Heart shaking,

eyes wide with alarm.

You are like alcohol,

sweet danger consuming me.

The rush I get from you

leaves me dizzy.

Don't let me fall.

I groan, snap the notebook closed. About twenty pages are filled with my paradoxes; reluctance and admiration mixing upon the paper in an ink swirl of quietness.

-

a/n: im tired and theres a bat in my house