𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐈𝐧 𝐑𝐞𝐝 ● 𝐉𝐉𝐊

• 3 • le rencontrer

For the sweet love of mother Mary, fuck my life!

"Y-yes, sir?" You don't turn around but say in a tiny voice.

The feeling of too much hotness returning. You gulp and chew on your lip with difficulty.

"I need to get these to the staff room. Help me." He says without looking at you. In that deep Seoul accent.

Why did I leave last? Can't I just call someone else to do it for me? Where is the janitor when you need him? Ugh!

You turn around with your blushing face. Taking some canvases that would fit in your trembling hands and finally, you dare to look at him. Rapid heartbeats thump in your ears as you take in his gorgeous beauty.

He just gives you a casual glance. But with his normal dark, heavy gaze. Making you feel like the smallest creature in the universe.

And he passes you by. Just like that.

Like a normal person.

You look down. Feeling a little hurt. Genuinely, more than little. But there's nothing to be hurt about, he's your teacher not your lover. He has no reason to look at you the way you look at him.

In fact, you shouldn't be looking at him the way you do.

A sudden urge to run away takes over you but your feet stay planted. Don't be childish, it's not like he knew what you felt.

He grabs all the remaining canvases with ease. His biceps bulge and the veins pop out more. Even your eyes feel embarrassed to listen to your heart and to comply with it's vulgar thoughts. But it does. You take in every feature that so gracefully contributes to making him, him.

He heads to the door, maybe assuming you are following him. He walks faster than you with his taller legs, so you hurry behind him. You want to have a very nice first impression, you want to be good. For him.

His height is towering you, you feel like a child. As he walks ahead, looking around the school with an amused look. High school must have changed since he studied. People do double takes as they see a new man walking in the corridors, giving him a look of awe. He looks like a man of the city. Seoulite. Not from Busan.

You trail behind. Not knowing if he sees those people or not because he keeps the same powerful gait. You dip your head down, not wanting any weird looks thrown your way.

You look down to find a note attached to one of the canvas reading: Sir, if you ever need any help, I am always ready for you.

You smile to yourself. Never had you related with people your age, but this time it felt like you did. You won't ever go this far to slip such innuendos. But you should have known, you won't be the only one having feelings like these. Though what the note intended seemed highly carnal to you.

You follow him to his office, looking around the newly organised settings. You keep the canvases on his desk which has no sign of any sort of art supplies. It's plain. Probably because he just shifted.

Now what?

Yeet yourself out.

You turn to look at him. Standing with his phone in his right hand, having kept the canvases down. Looking at the phone, not concerned about you at all. No 'thank you' comes out of his mouth. You frown in sadness, feeling hurt for the second time. But he doesn't care.

He does not care about you.

Don't make things up. You have never even met him. For the hundredth time, you plead your brain to stop overthinking.