park bench » vkook

5

That Friday is when it happened.

Since Wednesday, I hadn't left Taehyung anymore poems, and he hadn't visited the bookstore. But a half hour after my lunch break, he finds me. Per usual, I'm hiding out in one of the aisles near the back corner of the store, trying to avoid all human contact. Working here for a few months has given me a slight advantage over the customers in terms of the maze of bookshelves, and I can usually escape them. I was leaning back against a shelf, not even pretending to work, concentrating on the faint strains of classical music emanating from somewhere. Then I heard footsteps, and my eyes shot open.

Which leads me to the moment when I saw Taehyung again.

"There you are!" He grins, and stops in front of me. I tilt my head to look at him, trying to control my urge to vomit. 

"C-Can I help you?" I ask, voice thin. My body tenses as he plops down on the floor right next to me. Book spines press into my back. He crosses his legs and props his chin up with his hand. 

He looks extremely cute, like a toddler trying to pay attention in class. Except the thing he's paying attention to is me, which makes everything considerably less cute and a lot more panicky. 

"I was wondering if you knew of any books about secret admirers?" He asks, expression turning dreamy. I narrow my eyes as my heart begins to race.

"W-Why do y-you ask?"

"Well"-he leans forward conspiratorially- "I think I have one."

I forcefully will my expression to remain blank. He interprets my lack of response as confusion and clarifies, "A secret admirer, I mean."

At this point, I'm already trying to remember if we have enough Febreeze in the back room to mask the scent of vomit. Taehyung appears to be oblivious to my struggles and makes them even worse by rambling on.

"They keep leaving me poems at the park, and they're really pretty and well-written. The person who writes them seems to know that I always sit at the same bench, and whenever there's a poem waiting for me, I get really happy. I keep them and tape them to my wall." He grins shamelessly, and I stare at the spine of a book so old I can't read its title. The shelf digs into my back, and I absently wonder why he's telling me this.  He stares at me, evidently waiting for my response.

"Um, th-that's really cool," I say, hoping that the note of panic that bubbles between the break of my words is only audible to me. His eyes light up, and he nods vigorously. 

"Do you think that the poem-leaver is a-a stalker?" I ask tentatively. I hold my breath.

"Not really," he laughs, and I use the beautiful sound to mask my rather aggressive exhale. "I mean, I go to that park practically every day, at the same time, and sit at the same bench, so it just takes an observant, or maybe bored, person to figure me out." He shrugs. "I'm a creature of habit. Besides, the poems are really cute and make me happy."

I grin, pure relief sweeping over me. He doesn't think I'm a stalker! But then again, he doesn't know that the poem-leaver is me. We fall into a silence, and I struggle to think of something to say.

"So...Um, I can't say off the top of my head if we have any books about se-secret admirers..." I trail off and shrug, wincing as my shoulders drag over the bookshelf. 

"That's okay," Taehyung says, nonchalant. He doesn't look disappointed. "I guess I just wanted to tell someone about my drama." He tries for a smile, but it looks sad. My own face pulls into a slight frown in response. "My friends don't really care about me. Mostly, they just hang around me because they're bored and I usually pay if we eat or something like that."

"Then you need new friends," I say, and we both are a little taken aback by my strong tone. I think it's the first time since this conversation started that I hadn't stuttered. 

"I know," he sighs, looking down and tracing patterns on the floor. His shoulders angle inward, like he's trying to make himself look small. I bristle at the thought of his 'friends' treating him like that; just a toy to use and kick aside at their own convenience. I think back to the few times he had come to the park with his so called friends, remembering how he always kept a distance between them and him. I remember how they seemed to pay little to no attention to him, which struck me as impossible. How could you ignore this prince of a boy that easily? 

"I think I'll be going now," he says. I feel a slight tug of panic and desperation, which vanishes nearly as quickly as it appeared. He stands, and I stand as well, following him out of the aisle. When we step into the nearly deserted main aisle, he thanks me for listening and I awkwardly mutter a "you're welcome" and he exits the store. I stand in the aisle for too long, watching as he leaves, and get accosted by a middle-aged man looking for the newspapers. I direct the man to the stand in the front of the store, obnoxiously sweating the whole time. I hope he doesn't notice, because that would be embarrassing. But then again, every moment of my life seems to be embarrassing.

~~~

I avoid the park as if it's the bane of my existence. In reality, Taehyung is the bane of my existence. If I have one more encounter with him, I'll probably dissolve into a puddle of sweat and regret. But a small part of me still wants to leave him another poem, especially now that I know that he thinks it's cute. 

I stay inside all night, and Hoseok comes home at seven, out of breath and beaming. Before I can even greet him, he dumps his bag to the floor and jumps up and down in excitement.

"I'm a dance instructor! I'm a dance instructor!" He squeals, and I wrap him in a big hug. 

"Oh my God, congratulations!" I say, holding him at arms' length. "Wow, my Hobi is a teacher!" I say incredulously. 

"Shut up!" He grins and pushes my shoulder. We sprawl on the couch, and Hoseok turns on the TV. He seems content to leave his bag on the floor, but he'll probably trip over it later.

"What are your hours?" I ask. 

"It's every day, minus the weekends, from five to seven," he answers, looking away from the TV as a commercial plays. I mentally breathe a sigh of relief. "Is my Jungkookie clingy?" He coos, then pinches my cheek. I swat his hand away and scowl as he gives me a shit-eating grin.

"Don't call me that! I hate it when people give me nicknames," I protest. 

"But you give me nicknames," Hoseok whines.

"Yeah, because it's your name I'm mangling, so it makes it funny." I cross my arms as Hoseok laughs obnoxiously. Like most of my insults and sarcasm, it just rolls off his back. He hardly ever takes my jabs seriously, which is a good thing, because if he did I wouldn't have a place to live. 

We watch TV for the rest of the night, and eleven o'clock sees me wide awake, staring at my ceiling. I can't fall asleep; tomorrow is Saturday, which means I can go to the park, which means I'll see Taehyung. He must've figured out that the poem-leaver is me by now. And he probably thinks it's less cute, because the poem-leaver is me, a nervous wreck who can't speak to him without stuttering. I roll over and sigh. I can hear faint sounds of music coming from Hoseok's room, and I unintentionally get caught up in trying to hear the rhythm enough to place it. I lay on my stomach and push my face into the pillow, hoping that mild suffocation will make me pass out and get some sleep. Unfortunately, I can still breathe. And I'm still thinking about Taehyung.

Why do you steer my brain?

My thoughts are a kaleidoscope in your hands.

Fracturing phrases and

colored glass tongue.

Shimmering, shaking,

you rattle around my head.

Your laugh fills the space

unoccupied by my emotions.

Why do you live in my mind?

-

a/n: nicee i finally updated!! i was at my grandma's for like a week, and i was too lazy to type full length chapters, so i just decided to write video entry instead(go check it out wink wonk)